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BY EARL REED SILVERS 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN 
COLLEGE 

DICK ARNOLD PLAYS THE GAME 
DICK ARNOLD OF THE VARSITY 
NED BEALS. FRESHMAN 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
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BY 


EARL REED SILVERS 

AUTHOR OF “dick ARNOLD OF THE VARSITY,” 
“dick ARNOLD PLAYS THE GAME.” “DICK 
ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE,” ETC 



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D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
NEW YORK : : 1922 : : LONDON 



COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 



Cop 3 a’ight, 1921, by the Methodist Book Concern 

FEINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


m '6 1922 

S)CI.A639033 


TO 

PARK HAYS MILLER 

ASSISTANT EDITOR OF FORWARD 
WISE COUNSELOR AND KIND FRIEND 
THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY 
DEDICATED 








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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PACK 

I. College i 

II. The First Night 17 

III. The Commuters’ Club 33 

IV. Cheering Practice 47 

V. The Fullback 59 

VI. The Flag Rush 73 

VII. The Class Meeting 89 

VIII. The Theft 100 

IX. At Fielding 114 

X. Suspected 127 

XI. A Plan 138 

XII. The Sophomore Picture 146 

XIII. The Thief 156 

XIV. Fat Comes Back 170 

XV. Reported 182 

XVI. Varsity Timber 191 

XVII. The Special Exam 200 

XVIII. The Game 211 

XIX. The Football Dinner 226 



'.•V 



NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


CHAPTER I 

COLLEGE 

N ed BEALS, senior in Red way High 
School, whistled shrilly into the open door 
of Dud Chambers' home. There was an 
answering whistle from somewhere in the upper 
regions of the house; and after a minute or two. 
Dud came out and joined the impatient Ned on the 
porch. 

“We’ll have to hustle along,” he announced. 
“Only ten minutes.” 

Another boy joined them on the next block; and 
after they had turned the comer leading to the 
school building. Fat Ellsworth sprinted after them, 
pulled out his handkerchief and wiped glistening 
beads of perspiration from his forehead. 

“Gee, it’s hot I” he declared. “Let’s play hookey.” 
But Dud shook his head. 

“Wouldn’t be any sense to that,” he answered 
bluntly. “Exams start next week and we might 
just as well stick it out.” 

I 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


The bell on the cupola of the big yellow building 
rang out warningly. The boys increased their pace, 
Fat trotting along stolidly after them. 

‘T hate school,’^ he said once. 

But no one paid any attention to him; and with 
a sigh of resignation he turned into the basement 
door and made his way slowly to the senior class- 
room. It was early June, and the blue of the un- 
clouded sky called to him invitingly. 

From somewhere along the corridor, another 
bell buzzed. The members of the senior class 
shuffled to their feet, gathered in line at the door 
and marched unevenly to the assembly room. They 
sang a hymn, listened to the principal’s monotonous 
voice chant out a portion of the Scriptures, bowed 
their heads for the usual morning prayer. Gather- 
ing up their books, they prepared to file out to their 
first recitation; but the principal, hatchet- faced, held 
up his hand for silence. 

“I have an announcement to make,’’ he advised 
them, his rasping voice reaching to the far comers 
of the big auditorium. “Beginning next Thursday, 
at the County Court House in Elizabeth, examin- 
ations will be held for scholarships to the State 
University at Collegeville. High school graduates 
who can pass in fifteen points will be awarded 
scholarships amounting to two hundred dollars for 
2 


COLLEGE 


the four years of their college course. If any one is 
interested, he can see me in the office after school.” 

He nodded his head, and the students awoke to 
activity. The school orchestra pounded out a 
march; the seniors left first, followed by the juniors, 
and then by the under-classmen. Five minutes 
later, the school had settled down to its usual rou- 
tine. 

But the announcement of the principal had set 
Ned Beals to thinking. For a long time, he had 
wondered what he was going to do with himself 
after high school graduation. College had always 
been more or less in his thoughts ; but he knew that 
if he intended to continue his studies, he would have 
to earn enough money himself to pay his college 
expenses. Ned's father had been dead for almost 
ten years, and money was not at all plentiful in the 
Beals’ household. There had been enough, of 
course, to keep going; but there was no reserve 
fund for college expenses, and it had seemed to Ned 
as if it was more or less up to him to get a position 
somewhere and help his mother out. 

Still, if he could win a scholarship to the State 
University, it would make a big difference. Col- 
legeville was only ten miles or so from Redway ; 
already three or four of his former schoolmates 
were attending the University, and all but one of 
3 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


them still lived at home and commuted every day 
to the college. Ned figured that ten or fifteen 
dollars a month would cover all expenses — if he 
could win a scholarship. He resolved to speak to 
the principal about it after school. 

During the noon hour, he mentioned the matter 
to Dud and Fat. The latter was frankly skeptical 
and attempted at once to throw cold water on the 
plan. 

“If I go to college,’’ he declared, “I’m going up 
to Yale or Harvard and see some real college life. 
What fun will it be commuting to school? It will 
be just like going to work.” 

But Dud thought differently. 

“Fd like to hear more about it,” he said. “For 
a fellow who wants to be near home, or who hasn’t 
very much money, it’s a big chance. Let’s try it, 
Ned.” 

Ned glanced at the other boy gratefully. He 
knew, somehow, that he could always count upon, 
Dud. Dud never talked very much, but when he 
said a thing it generally had some sense to it. He 
was, moreover, the best halfback that the high 
school had ever had ; and on the basketball court, he 
was like a streak of greased lightning. Dud was 
all right. 

Fat grumbled something about maybe getting a 
4 


COLLEGE 


job next year, and turned into the yard of his home. 
The two other boys continued on their way. 

‘‘Fat’s a bunch of hot air,” Dud announced. 
“But if we should try the exams, I bet he does it, 
too. He’ll never go to one of the big colleges; 
hasn’t got enough money.” 

“We’ll wait and see if he’ll come to the office 
with us this afternoon,” Ned answered. 

Fat went with them ; not because he was interested, 
he explained, but because he wanted to hear what 
the principal had to say. 

“We haven’t got a chance in the world to win a 
scholarship, even if we try,” he announced dis- 
couragingly. 

But the principal seemed to think otherwise. 

“This school is one of the best in the county,” 
he declared pompously. “In the past five years, 
four of our men have tried for scholarships, and 
not a single one has failed. I would advise you to 
follow suit.” 

“How do we go about it?” Ned asked. 

“You simply present yourselves at the Court 
House next Thursday morning, receive a schedule 
of examinations, and take the various tests as they 
are announced. And I feel confident that you can 
pass them.” 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 

“Will we be excused from school to go to Eliza- 
beth?” Dud asked. 

“Most assuredly.” 

“Well do it then.” 

Ned Beals nodded in agreement ; but Fat grinned 
indecisively and gazed for a long half -minute out 
upon the grass-covered yard of the school. 

“Maybe if the other fellows do it, I will too,” 
he decided finally. “But a fat chance Fve got to pass 
the stuff.” 

They found out more about the scholarships be- 
fore they left the office. They would have to take 
examinations in English, some foreign language, 
mathematics, chemistry or physics, and history. 
'Some of the subjects they had not studied since 
freshman year, and even Dud doubted his ability to 
remember much about ancient history or algebra. 
But his determination did not waver. 

“We’ll have to work some,” he declared grimly. 
“But we can do it if we try hard enough.” 

“Of course you can,” the principal put in. 

Fat stirred restlessly. 

“It’s four o’clock,” he announced suddenly. 
“We’ll be late for baseball practice.” 

The principal gazed at him frowningly. 

“The trouble with you, Ellsworth,” he declared 
with characteristic bluntness, “is that you don’t take 
6 


COLLEGE 


things seriously enough. YouVe got the ability 
but not the strength of character to accomplish 
things.” 

Fat gulped audibly under the rebuke. 

“Yes, sir,” he answered mildly. 

But after the three boys had left school, he gave 
vent to his feelings. 

“Old Masterson up there is talking through his 
hat,” he declared angrily. “Fll show him whether 
I’ve got character or not.” 

It was, perhaps, the best thing that could have 
happened to Fat. Had it not been for the principal’s 
frank expression of opinion, it is probable that Fat 
would have put off studying for the examinations 
until it was too late. But in face of the challenge 
of the older man, he stubbornly set to work, joined 
by the two other boys night after night, and gave 
himself unstintedly to the task at hand. By the 
time the examinations rolled around, he was as well 
prepared as any of them. 

“I’ll show him,” he muttered. “Just watch me !” 

They caught the early train to Elizabeth, so ner- 
vous that they could hardly sit still in their seats, 
and suddenly dubious of their ability to win the cov- 
eted scholarships. Fat almost decided to back down 
at the last minute. 

“What’s the use of going on with the thing when 

7 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


we haven’t a chance in the world?” he demanded. 
“I’m going home again.” 

Dud winked slyly at Ned. 

“Just what Mr. Masterson said,” he commented 
dryly. “Go on home and tell him about it.” 

Fat flared up at once. 

“Home nothing!” he grunted. “Come on, let’s 
find the Court House.” 

They were a bit overawed at the overwhelming 
size of the massive marble building; but Fat, who 
seemed to have recovered his poise, asked questions 
of every one he met until finally an obliging elevator 
boy let them off at the fourth floor and directed them 
to a long, low-ceilinged room at the front of which 
a half dozen dignified men sat sorting papers. At 
least a score of candidates were there before them; 
fellows mostly of their own age, who sat nervously 
at the tables extending the length of the room and 
waited apprehensively for the big clock on the wall 
to strike nine. 

Fat glanced over them critically. 

“They don’t look like much,” he declared confi- 
dently. “Let’s go up and register.” 

One of the men on the platform greeted them 
courteously, told them where to sign their names, 
and assigned them to seats at one of the tables near 
8 


COLLEGE 


the door. They took their places, found pen and 
ink and blotters, and glanced around curiously. 

'Tf these old birds stay up there on the platform, 
we could skin our way through the stuff without 
half trying,’' Fat announced. 

Ned did not answer, but Dud glanced question- 
ingly at the other boy. 

'‘No, we couldn’t do that. Fat,” he said quietly. 
e wouldn't/' 

“Of course I was only fooling,” Fat hastened to 
explain. 

Ned, however, looked at him thoughtfully. Fat 
was a good fellow, but easily led. 

“Dud and I will have to look out for him if we 
do get to college,” he thought. 

The clock on the wall pealed out nine ominous 
strokes. A bearded man on the platform, who they 
learned afterwards was the county superintendent, 
rose to his feet. 

“You all have the schedule of examinations,” he 
announced. “From nine until twelve we shall take 
English. Each man, of course, is expected to do 
his own work. You will now receive the questions.” 

There were only four boys at Ned’s table; Dud 
and Fat from his own school, and another fellow 
who seemed vaguely familiar but whom Ned could 
9 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


not place. He was a well-dressed chap, with brown 
hair which was plastered down upon his head, a suit 
which had big checks in it, and a massive signet 
ring on his right hand. He sat to the left of Ned, 
and glanced over the questions critically. 

*^Gee !” he muttered under his breath. whop- 
per!” 

There was something about the way he spoke 
which Ned did not like. Instinctively, he felt a 
sudden aversion to the other boy, and he found him- 
self wondering if by any chance they Avould be 
thrown into contact at college. He hoped not. 

The English examinations seemed fairly easy. 
After a brief glance down the list of questions, he 
started to work, forgetting his surroundings, wast- 
ing hardly a single glance at his companion. But 
Dud and Fat were writing busily, and Ned knew that 
they, too, were attending to business. 

After a time, he felt a nudge in his ribs. He 
turned his head and found the boy at his left hand 
regarding him covertly. 

“What does ‘supplement’ mean, anyhow?” the 
stranger whispered. 

Ned pretended not to hear. The superintendent 
and his assistants were still on the platform, ap- 
parently busy with their own tasks. It would have 
lo 


COLLEGE 


been easy enough to have answered the question 
without fear of detection. But instead of doing so, 
Ned turned to his paper again. After a moment or 
two of waiting, the boy at his side nudged him a 
second time. 

“What’s the matter, can’t you talk?” he demanded 
raspingly, 

Ned frowned. He had never cheated in examin- 
ations ; it was the kind of thing he had been taught 
not to do. 

“Find out for yourself,” he retorted angrily. 

The well-dressed stranger beside him sneered 
into his troubled eyes. 

“Bosh!” he whispered. 

Ned turned to his paper again and tried to for- 
get all about it. He was conscious, however, that 
occasionally the other boy glanced over his shoulder, 
searching his answers to the questions. Ned did not 
attempt to cover his work; if the fellow beside him 
wanted to cheat, that was his own lookout. He 
would never get anywhere that way. 

The minute hand on the clock made a complete 
circuit; the room was silent except for the scratch- 
ing of many pens. At slightly after eleven, a few 
of the boys arose, handed in their papers, and saun- 
tered out of the room. Fat was one of the first to 


II 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


go, but Ned and Dud remained at their work until 
almost twelve. They found Fat waiting for them 
outside the door. 

“It was a cinch,’^ the chubby boy declared. “Not 
even as hard as the stuff we have at home.’’ 

“You’d better wait until you get your mark,” Dud 
answered shortly. “And anyhow, there are other 
exams to take.” 

“If they’re all like that, we’ll get through with 
bells on.” 

“I hope we do.” 

“How about some eats?” Fat demanded. “I’m 
starved.” 

They found a lunch room near the Court House ; 
and after they had seated themselves, the fellow who 
had tried to question Ned regarding the English 
examination came into the restaurant. Fat, catch- 
ing sight of him, waved cordially. 

“Come on over and sit with us,” he called. 
“Meet my friends.” 

Ned frowned; but the newcomer, ignoring his 
hostile glance, seated himself at the table. They 
found out that he was Merle Sneddon of the Field- 
ing High school; and at the mention of his name, 
Ned recognized him. He had been manager of the 
Fielding football team the preceding fall. 

He acknowledged their introductions pleasantly. 


12 


COLLEGE 


even reaching across the table and shaking Ned’s 
hand. 

“The exam was a cinch,” he said. “I killed it 
without half trying.” 

“It sure was,” Fat put in. 

Ned was glad, however, when the meal was ended 
and they turned their steps again toward the Court 
House. Fat, who did not have an examination until 
three o’clock, having decided to take chemistry in- 
stead of physics, remained sitting on the steps with 
Sneddon, and his newly formed friendship with 
the other boy bothered Ned vaguely. There was 
no telling what Fat might do. 

He forgot the matter, however, for the remainder 
of the afternoon; and when five o’clock rolled 
around and he had finished his third examination, 
he was too tired to start an argument with Fat. He 
wished, though, that Fat would be more careful 
about his friends. 

He spoke to Dud about it the next day, and his 
chum agreed with him that a fellow who would cheat 
in exams was not the kind of friend for Fat to have. 
But they decided to say nothing about it. 

“Probably Sneddon won’t even get to college,” 
Dud declared. “And if he doesn’t. Fat will never see 
him again. The best thing to do is just to keep 
still.” 


13 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


Whatever the probable fate of Sneddon, however, 
there seemed to be little doubt of Fat’s ability to 
win a scholarship. He finished each examination 
with surprising dispatch, maintained with un- 
wavering faith his confidence in himself ; and when 
Saturday evening rolled around and the last test 
was taken, he declared that it “was all over but the 
shouting.” 

“We’ll all be college men next year,” he announced 
happily. “And oh, boy, won’t we show them some- 
thing ?” 

He had apparently forgotten his previously ex- 
pressed intention to go to Yale or Harvard. Al- 
ready, he considered himself a student of State; and 
when the University won its final baseball game with 
Millburn College, Fat rejoiced as whole-heartedly 
as if he had won the game himself. 

“We might just as well get into the spirit of the 
place,” he argued when Dud suggested that he wasn’t 
even a freshman as yet. “We’ll all be there in 
another three months.” 

Dud and Ned, however, were not quite so sure 
about it. Both felt that they had done well in their 
examinations, but they were naturally conservative 
and they did not believe in “counting their chickens 
before they were hatched.” There were still two 
weeks or more to elapse before they would hear of 

14 


COLLEGE 


the results of the exams; and in spite of the fact 
that they were busier than they had ever been before 
with the activities of their high school graduation, 
they found time to worry a bit over the coming an- 
nouncement. Ned was, perhaps, more anxious than 
Dud. He knew that a scholarship was his only 
chance to attend college; and Dud, if he cared to, 
could afford to pay his tuition. 

Finally, however, the announcement came. Ned 
found it waiting for him when he arrived home after 
a morning in the newspaper office where he planned 
to work that summer. For perhaps five minutes 
he did not open it, but stood holding it in his hands 
wondering what news it contained. Then, with 
something of a grimace, he tore open the flap and 
pulled out the single card within. 

It told him that he had passed all his examin- 
ations, and had won a scholarship for the State 
University. He turned to run upstairs where his 
mother was busy with some household task, but the 
ringing of the telephone bell halted him. 

It was Dud on the wire, with the announcement 
that he, too, had won a scholarship. 

‘‘And Fve just heard from Fat,” Dud concluded. 
“The old dub came across like the rest of us.” 

Ned hung up the receiver and walked out upon the 
porch of his home. Now that the suspense was 

15 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


over, he was happier than he had been in years. 
The three of them had come through. 

They were going to college. 


CHAPTER II 


THE FIRST NIGHT 

S UMMER sped by on the wings of the wind. 
Ned was busy with his duties as reporter 
for the Redway Journal; Dud went away for 
the months of July and August to the Chambers' 
summer Cottage in Chesapeake Bay; and Fat did 
odd jobs around town — two weeks with the Shade 
Tree Commission, a month hoeing potatoes for old 
‘‘Lie" Skinner, another two weeks painting a barn 
in the rear of the Drexhill Place. By the time 
September rolled around, Ned had saved almost a 
hundred and fifty dollars, with which he hoped to be 
able to meet his college expenses for the first year. 
Fat had also done well, but he made big inroads into 
his savings by spending two weeks at the seashore 
after he had decided that he had done enough work 
for the summer. 

“A fellow has to have some rest after he’s been 
plugging hard for two months," was the way he put 
it. “We have to look out for our health, you know." 

Fat’s health had never caused serious concern to 
any of them, but when Ned said something to that 
effect. Fat only smiled wisely. 

17 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


'‘You can’t tell,” he answered. “Anyhow, I’m 
going away.” 

He came home with a heavy coat of tan and an 
additional five pounds of weight; but he anounced 
himself willing and eager for the college term to 
begin, and could hardly wait for the opening day to 
arrive. 

“I’m going out for the football team,” he declared. 
“I’m big enough.” 

“When does practice start ?” Dud wanted to know. 

“Haven’t heard. The same time the college does, 
I suppose.” 

“That’s on the twenty-second.” Dud regarded 
the other two boys questioningly. “We’ll get the 
eight o’clock train that morning, won’t we?” 

But Fat snorted indignantly. 

“Don’t you fellows know anything about col- 
lege?” he demanded. “We’ll go down the night 
before, of course.” 

“Why?” 

Fat did not deign to answer for a moment. He 
was the only one of the three who had ever set foot 
on the campus of State University, and he pro- 
fessed to know just about all there was worth know- 
ing concerning college life. He had spent a single 
week-end as a guest of one of the State fraternities 

i8 


THE FIRST NIGHT 


during the preceding year, and had picked up con- 
siderable campus gossip during his two day visit. 

“On the night before college opens,” he explained 
with elaborate condescension, “the freshmen and 
sophomores have what is known as a proc rush. 
There’s always a big rough-house and all kinds of 
fun. If you miss that, you start the whole college 
year wrong.” 

“But where are we going to stay?” 

“Oh, some one will put us up.” Fat spoke con- 
fidently. “A fraternity, probably.” 

Ned would have liked to ask more questions, but 
Fat seemed so infinitely superior that he decided to 
curb his curiosity and wait to see what would hap- 
pen. He was glad, though, that one of them knew 
something about college, for he was resolved to get 
just as much out of his college days as he could and 
he did not want to miss anything. 

“Let’s go down Tuesday afternoon,” he sugges- 
ted. “If there isn’t anything else to do, we can 
watch football practice.” 

“What’ll we wear?” Dud asked. 

Again Fat took on his superior tone. 

“We want to wear the best things we own,” he 
answered. “The fraternities will be on the lookout 
for good men, and if we don’t act like a lot of rubes, 
maybe one of them will ask us to join.” Fat swelled 

19 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


out his chest importantly. “Fm going to be a 
fraternity man down there,” he announced. 

Ned and Dud did not answer. Neither of them 
knew anything about fraternities, and they had no 
special desire to join one. Still, they decided to take 
Fat’s advice and dress as well as they could for the 
first day or so. There was no telling what might 
happen. 

On Tuesday morning, however. Fat telephoned 
to them and warned them to take along some of the 
oldest clothes they possessed. 

“We’ll want to go in the proc rush,” he explained. 
“And then we’ll need old clothes. They get pretty 
well tom and dirty, you know.” 

Ned threw a flannel shirt and a dilapidated pair 
of khaki trousers in the suitcase they had decided 
to take along for their joint effects, and joined the 
others at the station. Fat was resplendent in a 
new suit, carefully shined shoes, and a flowered 
necktie. Dud was neat, as always; and at the 
sight of Fat, he smiled broadly. 

“Where do you think you’re going, to an after- 
noon tea?” he demanded. 

But Fht only smiled superiorly. 

“Fm going to make a hit at college,” he answered. 
“You just wait.” 

There were other boys on the train, who Ned im- 


20 


THE FIRST NIGHT 


agined were college students returning from the 
summer vacation. He glanced at them curiously; 
they were clean-cut chaps, with eager eyes and 
friendly smiles. They called to one another happily, 
and oOd bits of conversation drifted to Ned’s strain- 
ing ears. There was a good deal of talking about 
‘the dorm,’ and even more about the football team. 

“Bill Weston, of the St. James School, has en- 
tered State this year,” one lusty-lunged youth an- 
nounced. “And you ought to see him play foot- 
ball. He’s a wonder.” 

Fat, who had also been listening attentively, turned 
excitedly to his two companions. 

“I saw that fellow Weston play last year,” he de- 
clared. “It was when I was visiting my cousin in 
New York. And now he’s coming to State. Oh, 
boy!” 

“He’ll be in our class,” Dud put in. “Maybe we’ll 
get to know him.” 

“Well, anyhow, we can watch him play football.” 

Ned would .have liked to play football himself ; 
but, although he had been captain of the high school 
team, he weighed only one hundred and thirty-five 
and he knew that he was too light for the college 
varsity. If he were only as heavy as Fat, for 
instance 

Suddenly he turned to the other boy. 

21 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


“Are you going out for practice to-day?” he 
asked curiously. 

“No, Fm going to wait until to-morrow. Too 
much fun around the campus for football this after- 
noon.” 

“It seems to me that the sooner you go out, the 
more of a chance you’ll have to make the team,” 
Dud remarked. 

“Oh, I’ll make it all right.” Fat spoke with his 
usual confidence, but Ned shook his head doubtfully. 
Fat was heavy enough for the team, and he was 
without doubt a good player; but Ned knew that 
there was a lot of difference between high school 
and college football, and he knew too that Fat would 
never make the varsity unless he took the work seri- 
ously. That was the trouble with Fat ; he had never 
been willing to work hard enough for things. 

But Ned forgot about football as soon as the 
train rumbled into Collegeville station. He followed 
the others out upon the long platform and 
wondered vaguely if they could find a place to put 
their suitcase while they took a walk around the 
campus. 

Hardly, however, had they descended from the 
train before two pleasant- faced boys rushed up 
to them. 


22 


THE FIRST NIGHT 


“You fellows coming to college?” one of the new- 
comers asked. 

“Sure we are,” Fat answered eagerly. “Came 
down a day early ta get used to things.” 

“Good stuff! Here, let me take your bag.” 
The taller of the two strangers relieved Ned of his 
suitcase. “Fm Johnson of the Kappa Kappa Fra- 
ternity,” he explained. “We want you men to 
come up with us and make yourselves at home.” 

Fat glanced triumphantly at his two companions. 

“Fm Ellsworth,” he announced. “And this is 
Beals and Chambers.” 

They shook hands all around. 

“Where Ve you rooming?” Johnson demanded. 
“We’ll take you up there first.” 

There was a moment of awkward hesitation ; then 
Fat spoke. 

“We’re not rooming anywhere yet,” he ex-plained 
carelessly. “We only live in Redway, ten miles or 
so down the road, and we thought we^d get to know 
the place before we came down here tq live.” 

“Oh, I see. Commuters!” 

Ned was conscious of a slight change in John- 
son’s attitude. He spoke as if being a commuter 
was something of a disgrace. In a moment, how- 
ever, he had recovered himself. 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


“We’ll go right up to* the house then,” he sug- 
gested. “It’s this way.” 

With Johnson in the lead, they forced a passage 
through the crowded platform and turned in the 
direction of the campus, which lay only a block 
or so from the railroad. Johnson gave most of his 
attention to Fat, leaving the other boy, whose name 
was Fenton, to take care of Ned and Dud. Fat 
seemed to be very much at ease; but Ned felt just 
a bit out of things and almost wished that he had 
waited until the next day to start his college experi- 
ences. However, he realized that Fenton was try- 
ing tOk be decent to him, and he lost some of his 
self-consciousness when his host pointed out the 
various college buildings and told him something of 
their, history. Dud, as silent as usual, trudged 
along beside them without comment. 

They, came finally to a large stone house, set well 
back from the road ; and here Johnson turned in. 

“This is the chapter house,” he announced. “We 
want you fellows to. feel at home here and to spend 
the night with us.” 

He included the three of them in his invitation, 
but his eyes were on Fat. 

“We’d be glad to,” Fat answered instantly. 
“Some place!” 


24 


THE FIRST NIGHT 


A score or more fellows were sitting around the 
spacious porch. They greeted the three freshmen 
cordially, shook hands until Ned’s arm ached, 
pushed forward chairs for them, and urged them to 
make themselves comfortable. Almost instantly, 
a group of boys centered around Fat, asking him 
what course he was going to take, and why under 
the sun he hadn’t planned to live at Collegeville. 

‘‘You don’t want to commute if you can help it,” 
one of them declared. “The only way to see 
college life is to live here.” 

“There’s plenty of time for that,” Fat answered 
carelessly. “We’ll all come to it sooner or later, I 
suppose.” 

Ned grinned in spite of himself. As far as he 
knew. Fat had no intention whatever of living at 
Collegeville; he couldn’t afford it. It looked very 
much as if Fat was trying to make an impression, 
and it didn’t seem quite right to Ned. He knew 
that Dud agreed with him, for Dud wasn’t the kind 
of fellow to try to be anything exx:ept what he 
really was. 

Occasionally a newcomer appeared and was in- 
troduced to them. There were four or five other 
freshmen, two of them with little white buttons in 
the lapels of their coats. Ned wandered vaguely 

25 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


what the buttons signified, and during a lull in the 
conversation he asked the man next to him what 
they were. 

^‘They’re pledge buttons,” his neighbor advised 
him. 'That means that those fellows are pledged 
to join Kappa Kappa.” 

Some one inside started to play the piano, and 
the men on the porch began to sing. Ned didn’t 
know the song; but he had a good tenor voice, and 
after a time he caught the swing of the words and 
joined in with the others. Johnson, sitting on the 
rail before him, raised his eyes and regarded him 
curiously. 

"Some warbler!” he announced. "Ever sing be- 
fore ?” 

Some of the other, fellows waited curiously, and 
Ned felt his face growing red. 

"Only in the church choir at home,” he answered. 

"You want to go out for the Glee Club then.” 

Ned was about to ask further about it; but Fat, 
grinning broadly, anticipated him. 

"He’s the best singer in the whole town,” he de- 
clared. "A regular Caruso!” 

"Give us a song!” some one suggested. 

But Ned only shook his head and slunk down 
deeper into his chair. The sudden attention he had 
26 


THE FIRST NIGHT 


caused disconcerted him; he felt a slow wave of 
crimson creep over his face. 

“Fat’s only talking,” he mumbled. 

Fortunately, a new arrival turned the attention 
of the crowd away from him ; and after that no one 
said anything about singing. But Ned caught Fat 
looking at him curiously, and on the way to foot- 
ball practice a short time later, the chubby boy drew 
him behind the others. 

“Come on out of your shell,” he whispered almost 
angrily. “You’ll never make a hit by being an 
oyster.” 

But Ned didn’t care much about making a hit. 
From what he had already seen, he imagined that it 
would cost a lot of money to join a fraternity; and 
he knew that he, for one, could not afford it. He 
imagined that it would be a mighty pleasant thing 
to live in a fraternity house and with such a fine 
crowd of fellows as he had met that afternoon; 
but for the present, at least, he knew that it would 
be impossible. He was a commuter; he could not 
even live in one of the dormitories. 

He was vaguely troubled about the way the other 
students* seemed to look upon commuters. They 
spoke of them slurringly, as if they were entirely 
foreign to the college body. 

27 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


“You don’t want to commute,” more than one 
fellow had already told him. “If I were you, I’d 
plan to live here right away.” 

Ned ceased to think about commuting, however, 
after they had once reached the athletic field. He 
had never been on a college field before, and he 
marveled at the green of the chalk-lined turf, the 
long rows of empty stands on both sides of the grid- 
iron, and the smooth cinder running tra,ck which 
bordered the enclosure. 

Fourscore or more candidates for the varsity 
team kicked and hurled a dozen or so footballs back 
and forth across the field. A small, wiry man 
•wearing a golf suit and checked cap stood calmly 
on the side lines smoking a blackened pipe. Fenton, 
at Ned’s side, pointed him out impressively. 

“That’s Bailey, the head coach,” he announced. 
“He’^ a live one, tock” 

The members of the Kappa Kappa Fraternity led 
their guests to one of the upper rows of seats on 
the stands. Football practice continued, while Ned 
watched interestedly, forgetful for the time being 
of his self-consciousness, talking eagerly to the 
students who sat near him. Occasionally, Fat Ells- 
worth’s voice came to him. Fat was announcing 
to the world at large that he was going out for the 
football team, that he weighed almost a hundred 
28 


THE FIRST NIGHT 


and ninety pounds, and that he would try for a 
place at tackle. Dud, maintaining his silence, glued 
his eyes to the men on the field and smiled quietly 
at the talkative Fat. Ned wondered if Dud in- 
tended to go out for the team. He was, in his way, 
as good a player as Fat, and there was a chance 
of his making the varsity if he should try it. But 
Ned had an idea that Dud wouldn’t go out, for the 
first year at least. He resolved to ask him about it. 

After a time, Coach Bailey gathered the candi- 
dates around him. The watching students on the 
stands could not hear his words, but the sound of his 
voice came to them, clear cut, decisive. 

A heavy-set player, with broad shoulders and 
stocky legs, trotted out of the field house and made 
his way toward the group. Fenton grasped Ned’s 
arm excitedly. 

‘That’s Bill Weston, the freshman star,” he an- 
nounced. “He’s already slated for a job at full- 
back.” 

The squad turned as he reached them and re- 
garded him curiously. Coach Bailey walked over 
to him and held out his hand. Weston took it un- 
smilingly, and the two men talked together easily, 
like old friends. 

“Bailey coached him at St. James two years ago,” 
Fenton explained. “They know each other well.” 

29 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


At the sharp command oi the coach, the squad 
spread out across the field and the players began 
kicking the ball about again. Ned’s eager eyes 
followed the sturdy figure of Bill Weston. The 
former prep school star handled himself like a vet- 
eran, confident of his ability to make good. Ned 
was conscious of a faint touch of envy; already 
Weston’s position in the college was secure, while 
he and Dud and the other members of the class 
would be forced to start from the very bottom, 
with nothing to distinguish them, nothing to make 
them stand out from the rest. It didn’t seem fair, 
somehow. 

He wondered, vaguely, if he would ever get to 
know Weston intimately. Probably not, for it was 
rumored that the football player was a queer chap, 
hard to approach. There was something about him, 
however, that appealed to Ned. He resolved to win 
his friendship, if such a thing were possible. 

He would have liked to remain on the field until 
practice was over, but shortly after five o’clock 
Johnson and the others started back to the fraternity 
house, and Ned followed reluctantly after them. 
His self-consciousness returned at supper; he was ill- 
at-ease, embarrassed. He was glad when the meal 
was finished and they went back to the porch. But 
once there, Ned was conscious of vague whisperings 

30 


THE FIRST NIGHT 


among the members of the fraternity. Out of the 
corner of his eye he saw Johnson tap Fat Ellsworth 
on the arm, and watched curiously as Fat followed 
the other boy into the house. 

Ten minutes later Fat reappeared, with a small 
white button in the lapel of his coat. He had 
pledged himself to Kappa Kappa; he was going to 
be a fraternity man. 

Ned smiled into Fat’s shining eyes without a 
touch of envy. But he wondered curiously if John- 
son would ask either him or Dud to join. The 
other members of Kappa Kappa clapped Fat on the 
back, muttered congratulations. But Johnson did 
not call Ned inside, nor was there any summons for 
Dud. The minutes dragged along endlessly; the 
freshmen stirred 'restlessly in their chairs. Was 
the proc rush never coming? 

At seven o’clock, however, Johnson called all the 
first year students together and took them upstairs. 

“Put on your oldest clothes,” he commanded. 
“And get ready for the big fight. It’s something 
you’re never going to forget.” 

With eager eyes and lips that shut grimly, Ned 
and Dud changed into the extra clothing they had 
brought with them. They welcomed the relief of 
action; Fat might be at home on the porch of a 
fraternity house, but that kind of thing was not for 

31 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


them. In a rush, however, it would be different; 
there they could lose themselves among their fellow 
classmates, could fight side by side, grimly and with- 
out flinching, as they had done on football field and 
basketball court. They were nervous, but not 
frightened. 

When Johnson led them up the long street toward 
the athletic field, they walked side by side, eager for 
the approaching conflict. 

"‘We’ll stick together,” Dud said once. 

Ned nodded. 

“Yes,” he answered grimly. “We’ll stick to- 
gether.” 


CHAPTER III 


THE commuters’ CLUB 

W HAT followed was more or less of a 
maze to Ned and Dud, although they 
knew that they would never forget it 
as long as they lived. Dark figures met them as 
they walked out upon the athletic field; there was 
the subdued murmur of voices, the shuffling of 
many feet, sharp directions snapped out by brisk 
upper classmen. After a time, the freshmen prac- 
ticed their class yell — something about ricka-racka, 
rive, and nineteen twenty-five — and then they all 
gathered around Johnson, who gave directions 
briefly and sent them in small groups to scour the 
campus and town in search of stray proclamations. 

But the group in which Dud and Ned found 
themselves did not encounter any sophs, nor did 
they discover a single proclamation except one 
which was pasted so high on the side of a bam that 
they could not read it. 


33 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


At nine-thirty, they went back to the athletic 
field, where they found two hundred or more of 
their classmates awaiting them. Sometime before 
ten o’clock, the sophomores would arrive for the 
main battle of the evening. As far as Ned could 
learn, there was really no object to the fight ; it was 
simply a grand wrestling match, with each class try- 
ing ta pull as much clothing from the other as 
possible. The rules were plain enough, however; 
there was to be no striking with fists, and when once 
a man was down, he was to be permitted to rise in- 
stantly. 

Ned had not seen Fat since they left the frater- 
nity house. The chubby boy had gone o-ff with two 
or three other freshmen who were pledged Kappa 
Kappa, and Ned realized with something of a pang 
that he would probably not have much to do with 
Fat during his college course. Already their paths 
seemed to lead in different directions. 

It was rather hard to understand. Fat had been 
popular enough at high school, but both Ned and 
Dud had been stronger leaders than he ; and Princi- 
pal Masterson had been frank to predict that the 
other two boys would outdo him in college honors. 
But already Fat was pledged to a fraternity, and 
Ned and Dud had not even been asked to join. 
34 


THE COMMUTERS* CLUB 


Ned wondered vaguely if college standards were 
different from those in school. 

He mentioned the matter to Dud, but his quiet 
chum only smiled unconcernedly. 

“The trouble with us,” he said, “is that we don’t 
talk enough. Fat makes a good first impression.” 

They forgot about Fat, however, when a loud 
yell from the direction of the gate warned them 
that the sophomores were coming. With wildly 
thumping hearts, they took their places in the front 
line of waiting freshmen and prepared themselves 
for the onslaught. 

It came instantly. With a shrill cheer of defi- 
ance, the second year mob, smaller in number but 
strong in spirit and experience, hurled themselves 
against the mass of bewildered freshmen. The 
air was suddenly filled with clouds of white powder, 
which sifted into Ned’s nose and throat and tasted 
like flour. A husky sophomore, leaping high, 
landed on his shoulders. He turned and gave 
battle. 

The din of the cheering spectators came to him 
dimly. He seized the shirt of his antagonist and 
pulled desperately. There was a ripping sound; 
some one yelled shrilly. A dark figure closed with 
the sophomore, pulling him away and leaving his 
shirt in Ned’s hands. The boy tossed it aside and 
35 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


entered the fray again. He wondered where Dud 
was, and what Fat was doing. It was hard to dis- 
tinguish friend fi’om foe. 

“Nineteen-twenty-five!’’ he yelled, whenever he 
grappled with a man. “Fm a freshman ! Nineteen- 
twenty-five !” 

If his opponent answered in kind, he let him go 
and dashed for some one else. If he happened to 
be a sophomore, Ned grappled with him, pulled at 
his clothing, wrestled and tugged with all the 
strength he possessed. Hoarse voices mumbled 
incoherent sounds, -and over the straining mass hov- 
ered the din o^ much cheering. 

It seemed as if they fought for hours. With 
staring eyes and heaving chest, Ned staggered 
away from the crowd. Some one bumped up 
against him, pushed him so violently that he fell to 
the ground. For a moment he lay where he had 
fallen, waiting until his full strength came back 
before going in again. He rolled to a sitting posi- 
tion and glanced around. Beside him was another 
boy, evidently a freshman, who sat hugging his 
knees in his arms and regarding the shifting mob 
of contestants with distasteful eyes. There was 
something vaguely familiar about him, and Ned 
looked more closely. Then his eyes lighted with 
recognition. It was Merle Sneddon, the fellow 
3 ^ 


THE COMMUTERS* CLUB 


from Fielding High School who had copied his 
examination in English. 

The weariness went oirt from Ned’s body. He 
rose to his feet and stood looking down at Sneddon. 
The other boy glanced up and recognized him. 

‘‘Hello, Beals !” he said uncertainly. “Some 
mess, isn’t it?” 

Sneddon’s clothes were unruffled, his hair still 
plastered neatly to his head. A sudden rage took 
possession of Ned. Impulsively he reached down 
and pulled the other boy to his feet. 

“Come on,” he replied. “Let’s get in.” 

“Oh, I say ” 

But Ned was already dragging him toward the 
center of the mHee. A sophomore discovering 
them, leaped upon them. Ned stepped aside and 
left Sneddon to the foe. He smiled grimly as he 
saw the sophomore bear him down and rub his face 
in the dirt. 

“The quitter!” he muttered. 

Out of the din of sound, came a sudden distinct 
note. 

“All over!” some one cried shrilly. “Pee-rade, 
freshman !” 

The others took up the cry. 

“All over! All over!” 

At the command of the upper classmen, the com^* 

37 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


ibatants separated. Dirt-streaked, many of them 
naked to the waist, they formed in two groups, 
awaiting further orders. 

*‘Pee-rade, freshmen!’' some one repeated. “A 
pee-rade down to the campus.” 

The first year men formed in line, one before the 
other, and marched in lock step toward the main 
campus. 

“Nineteen-twenty-five, nineteen-twenty-five I” they 
chanted breathlessly. 

The sophomores, massing their strength, fell 
upon the straggling line, striving desperately to 
tear it to pieces. But the freshmen held firm, 
marching along unevenly but, nevertheless, in some 
kind of order. Once on the campus, the general 
battle threatened to be renewed; but a command 
from the upper classmen avoided the combat. 

“All over!” they called. “Everybody home!” 

The mass separated; small groups of men wan- 
dered across the campus toward dormitories and 
fraternity houses. Ned found Fat leaning up 
against a tree near one of the gateways. 

“Hello!” he called cheerily. Some fight, wasn’t 
it?” 

Ned nodded. 

“Where’s Dud?” he demanded. 

“I don’t know. He’ll probablv wander over to 

38 


THE COMMUTERS* CLUB 


the fraternity house. Let's get cleaned up." 

They found Dud at the Kappa Kappa house be- 
fore them. His clothes were torn and begrimed 
and there was a long scratch across one cheek, but 
he greeted them happily. 

‘‘Some rush!" he said. 

They made their way upstairs to the room which 
had been given over to them, peeled off their dirty 
clothes, and reveled in the hot shower bath in the 
basement. After they had dressed again, they went 
down to the lounging room. Johnson greeted them 
cordially, told them that he had been watching the 
fight they made. 

“You're some scrappers, all of you," he re- 
marked. 

Ned thought that there was a different light in 
his eyes, that he looked at them more respectfully. 

After a time, he called Ned aside. 

“Why don't you and Chambers stick around here 
with us for a few days," he suggested. “Then if 
you like living in Collegeville, maybe we can find a 
room for you and you can give up commuting." 

Ned was aware at once of the double meaning of 
his words. The members of the fraternity had de- 
cided to put him and Dud on probation, to keep them 
around for a time and get to know them better. 
Then, if they should decide not to commute, maybe 
39 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


they would be pledged, would be asked to live in 
the Kappa house. 

But Ned had no intention of sailing under false 
colors. 

“It wouldn’t do any good with he said 

quietly. “Even if I should like to live down here, 
I couldn’t afford it. Dud might do it, though.” 

When the suggestion was made to Dud, however, 
he shook his head. 

“I’m going to commute for a time,” he said with 
characteristic frankness. “My family wants me to 
stick around home.” 

Johnson left them alone after that, and they were 
glad when some one suggested that they turn in. 
Just before they went upstairs, however, Fenton 
came walking into the house with a new freshman 
in tow. It was Merle Sneddon. 

The members of the fraternity made a big fuss 
over Sneddon. He was well dressed and good 
looking, and he accepted their advances gracefully. 
The next morning, when Ned and Dud went down 
to breakfast, they noted that Sneddon wore the 
small white button on his coat. He was pledged 
Kappa Kappa. 

If he felt any resentment against Ned for his 
action during the proc rush the preceding night, he 
gave no indication of it. He sat with Fat at the 
40 


THE COMMUTERS’ CLUB 


farther end of the table in the dining hall and chat- 
ted easily about the rush and other college matters. 
Ned learned that he had won a scholarship to State, 
and he wondered if he had passed his other examin- 
ations as he had English. He rather imagined 
that he had. 

Dud and Ned expected Fat to walk over to Chapel 
with them, but Fat linked arms with Sneddon and 
seemed to forget all about his former chums. He 
talked a good deal about coming down to live in the 
fraternity house, and Dud smiled grimly at Ned. 

‘T don’t think his father will let him,” he said. 

They waited outside of Chapel for the final bell 
to toll. A train rumbled across the bridge and 
stopped at the station. A few minutes later, a score 
or more of boys filed through the gate and walked 
slowly up the inclined path of the campus. Some 
one whom Ned did not know regarded them dis- 
tastefully. 

‘^Commuters,” he muttered. “It would be a 
good thing for the college if we didn’t have any. 
They just come here and get what they can, and 
then beat it home again.” 

Again that antagonism against the boys who did 
not live on the campus. Ned could not understand 
it ; could not see why a man who lived at home could 
not be just as loyal to State as a fellow who roomed 

41 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


in the dormitory. He resolved that he would show 
them that one commuter at least was not lacking in 
college loyalty. 

He enjoyed the Chapel exercises, listened care- 
fully to what the President had to say to the mem- 
bers of the freshman class, and thrilled pleasantly 
at the singing of the college hymn. He did not un- 
derstand many of the announcements concerning 
courses and professors, but one notice which the 
President read had to do with himself. 

“The former room in York Hall which last year 
was reserved for commuting students has been 
turned over to the history department this year,” 
the announcement ran. “To date we have made no 
provision for commuters, and for the present there 
will be no commuters’ quarters.” 

Some one started to clap, but the President held 
up his hand, and the applause died away. There 
was no doubt of the fact, however, that the student 
body was glad that the commuters would have to 
shift for themselves. The antagonism against them 
was clearly apparent. 

Ned was vaguely troubled; it seemed as if a 
shadow had been cast over his college days. He 
had looked forward with such keen anticipation to 
taking part in whatever activities were possible, that 
42 


THE COMMUTERS’ CLUB 


the knowledge that he would be handicapped at the 
start by not living at Collegeville both shocked and 
distressed him. He lived only ten miles or so 
away; the distance really made little difference. 
But evidently the students thought otherwise. He 
was a commuter — and commuters were not wanted 
at the college. Even their room was taken away 
from them. 

When the noon hour came, he and Dud wondered 
what to do with themselves. Fat had been asked to 
take lunch at the Kappa house, but the other two 
boys had not been invited. There did not seem to 
be anywhere they could go except to the library. 
After luncheon, which they ate in a restaurant 
downtown, they wandered back to the campus, feel- 
ing very much out of things. It was Dud who sug- 
gested that they walk over to the gymnasium and 
secure their lockers for the term. 

‘We might just as well do that as anything,” he 
said. “But I wish we could find somewhere to 
hang out.” 

The college Registrar gave them each a key, and 
they wandered across the campus to the big gymna- 
sium, where they found their lockers in one of the 
smaller rooms in the basement. It was a pleasant 
room, with long benches set against the walls and 
43 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


two large open windows which looked out upon the 
campus. 

‘This wouldn’t be a bad place to make our head- 
quarters,” Dud suggested. “I wonder if they’d let 
us do it.” 

Another boy came in, a small fellow, with blazing 
red hair and a smiling mouth. He regarded Ned 
and Dud doubtfully. 

“You fellows freshmen?” he asked finally. 

“Yes.” 

The red-haired boy smiled apologetically. 

“My name’s Simmons, Red Simmons,” he an- 
nounced. “And you might as well know the worst 
of it right off. I’m a blooming commuter.” 

Ned’s face lighted. 

“So are we,” he answered. “I’m Beals, and this 
is Dud Chambers.” 

“Glad to know you.” Simmons regarded them 
quizzically. “What are you doing down here?” he 
demanded. 

“Looking around for somewhere to hang out.” 

“So’m I.” The red-haired boy grinned cheer- 
fully. “Say,” he blurted out, “let’s ask the gym 
director if we can come here noons. I’m expecting 
to bring my lunch and I want somewhere to eat it. 
This is a dandy place.” 

“It sure is. Think he’d let us do it?” 

44 


/ 


THE COMMUTERS’ CLUB 


‘‘He might. Let’s ask him. I know him by* 
sight, and he’s upstairs now.” 

The director listened gravely to their request, but 
waited for a moment before answering. 

“I don’t think it would do any harm,” he decided 
finally. “Goodness knows, you men deserve some- 
where to stay. So go ahead.” Red started to say 
something, but he held up his hand. “As long as 
you don’t abuse the privilege, you can make your 
headquarters down there,” he added. “I’ll expect 
you to keep the room clean and to act like men, not 
like a lot of schoolboys.” His pleasant smile took 
all of the sting out of his words. “And if I can do 
anything for you, let me know,” he finished. 

Red Simmons was elated at the permission which 
had been granted them. 

“I know a peach of a fellow from Brookfield 
who will come in with us,” he said. “And maybe 
we can pick up two or three others. We’ll make 
this our clubroom and we’ll form a Commuters’ 
Club. What do you say?” 

“Fine!” Ned answered. “And we can meet here 
every noon.” 

“Come here in the morning, too, and leave our 
lunches and books. Oh, boy!” 

Dud did not say anything, but Ned noted that the 
troubled look had gone out from his eyes. 

45 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


'We’ll meet here to-morrow noon and organize,” 
Red announced happily. "And the old fraternities 
can go hang; we’ll have one of our own.” 

"I wonder if Fat would care to join,” Ned asked 
doubtfully. 

But Dud shook his head. 

"No,” he answered. "Fat’s found a new gang, 
Ned.” 

On the way to class the next hour, they passed 
Fat on the campus. He was walking arm in arm 
with Merle Sneddon. 

But Ned did not envy him especially. For the 
commuters were going to band together, were going 
to have a club of their own. 

"We’ll have a lot of fun down there,” he declared 
to Dud. "And that fellow Simmons is a peach.” 

College life had suddenly taken on a brighter 
hue. He could wait for the next day to roll 

around. 


CHAPTER IV 


CHEERING PRACTICE 

B oth Ned and Dud had intended to go home 
on the four twenty- four train that after- 
noon, and at four o’clock, when classes 
were completed, they met in the locker room of the 
gymnasium and walked along the border of the 
campus toward the railroad station. The campus 
was alive with students, and on the steps of the 
Main Dormitory a gradually increasing crowd was 
forming. 

‘What’s up over there?” Dud asked. “Think we 
ought to find out?” 

But Ned shook his head. 

“Let’s get on home,” he answered. “We can 
stick around some other afternoon.” 

On the platform- af the station, however, they 
found themselves confronted by a belligerent-look- 
ing sophomore, who sneered into their puzzled eyes 
and demanded to know where they were going. 

“Home,” Ned advised him quietly. “We’re 
commuters and live in Redway.” 

“Humph, I thought so!” The sophomore hesi- 

47 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


tated for a moment. Then, ‘*Oh, Art!” he called. 

Another boy came running down the platform. 

‘'Got any one?” he asked eagerly. 

"Yes, two commuters.” 

"And they were going home?” 

"Yes.” 

The newcomer glanced at Ned and Dud with 
obvious distaste. 

"Don’t you two fellows know that there’s cheer- 
ing practice this afternoon?” he demanded. 

"No,” Ned answered. "No one told us an)d;hing 
about it.” 

"So you were trying to sneak home instead of 
hanging around the campus for awhile, hey?” 

A curious crowd had gathered around the four 
boys, and one of the onlookers snickered amusedly. 
Ned felt his face growing red. 

"We’re perfectly willing to stick around,” he 
said almost angrily. "But no one told us any- 
thing about it.” 

"We’ll tell you then.” The sophomore spoke 
loudly. "You come with us.” 

Ned was glad to get away from the curious 
crowd; and without a word, he and Dud followed 
the two other boys down the steps of the station and 
through the campus gate. The porch of the dor- 
mitory was crowded with a shifting mass of fresh- 
48 


CHEERING PRACTICE 


men, and on the green in front of the building a 
score or more sophomores bustled importantly 
about. The fellow who had been addressed as Art 
grasped the two commuters by their arms and 
marched them up to a curly-haired chap who was 
evidently master of ceremonies. 

‘‘We found these two worms on the station, Jim,’^ 
he announced. “They’re commuters, and as usual 
they were trying to beat it home.” 

“We didn’t know anything about cheering prac- 
tice,” Ned put in. “Nobody told us.” 

“If you’d live down here, you could find out some- 
thing about college customs,” the sophomore an- 
swered shortly. He turned suddenly toward the 
waiting freshmen. 

“All you fellows who are commuters raise your 
hands,” he commanded. 

A dozen or so boys held up their right hands em- 
barrassedly. 

“Come on down on the bottom step,” the soph- 
more ordered. “I want to say something to you.” 

They shuffled down to the place indicated and 
glanced rather defiantly at the leader of the rival 
class. Ned and Dud joined them. 

“There’s a rule at this college,” the sophomore an- 
nounced in a loud voice, “that says that commuters 
had better watch themselves very carefully. Even 
49 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


though you don’t live here, you’re expected to stick 
around all you can and to do the same things the 
other freshmen do. You’re nothing but a bunch of 
parasites anyhow, but as long as we have to have 
you here we’re going to make college men out of 
you in spite of yourselves. But just remember that 
we’ve got our eyes on you, and if you try to sneak 
out of anything you’re going to get something you 
aren’t looking for.” 

Ned felt his face flushing angrily, but he held his 
tongue and tried to make believe that the warning 
wasn’t meant for him at all. Beside him. Dud 
Chambers waited quietly. From the other end of 
the line, however. Red Simmons spluttered indig- 
nantly. 

“I’m no more of a parasite than any one else,” he 
retorted. “And I intend to be just as loyal to State 
as any of you. It isn’t my fault that I have to 
commute. If you fellows ” 

But a wild yell of protest interrupted him. 

“Who’s the fresh guy?” some one asked. “Throw 
him in the canal.” 

“Paddle him!” 

“Put him through the mill I” 

The sophomore leader, however, held up his hand 
for silence. Then he addressed Red directly. 

50 


CHEERING PRACTICE 


“It would be better for you to keep your mouth 
shut,” he said quietly. “What’s your name?” 

“Simmons.” 

The questioner turned to one of his companions, 
who held a large sheet of 'paper in his hand. 

“Make note of that,” he said. 

Red Simmons relapsed into a sullen silence, and 
the watching freshmen stirred restlessly. 

“He’s in for a paddling probably,” Ned heard 
one of them say. “Maybe he’ll get a summons to- 
morrow.” 

Ned gazed over at Red sympathetically. He did 
not quite know what a “paddling” meant, but he 
realized that it was some sort of punishment meted 
out to freshmen and that it wasn’t anything to laugh 
about. Red was certainly “in wrong.” 

The sophomore with the sheet of paper had begun 
to read off names. 

“Beals!” he yelled. 

“Here!” Ned answered. 

“Chambers !” 

“Here!” 

“Aldersmith!” 

There was no answer, and the sophomore glanced 
up questioningly. 

“Aldersmith!” he called again. 

51 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


Still no answer. 

Two or three of the other sophomores muttered 
threateningly. The leader turned grimly to them. 

‘Tut Aldersmith down on the black list,’^ he com- 
manded. 

Ned turned curiously to a freshman standing be- 
side him. 

“What's the big idea ?” he asked. 

“Unless Aldersmith has a good excuse for being 
away, he’ll get thrown in the canal,” the other boy 
explained. 

“He’s nothing but a commuter, anyhow,” another 
freshman put in. “Probably he’s sneaked home.” 

Ned turned away without answering. But his 
eyes were troubled. More and more, the antagon- 
ism of the college body toward commuters was being 
impressed upon him. Even his own classmates 
shared the general feeling. 

The calling of names went on endlessly. Occa- 
sionally, there was no response, and another fresh- 
man joined the black list. But finally, the roll call 
was completed, and then the sophomore leader again 
took charge of the situation. 

“Form in line,” he called loudly. “Single file in 
front of the dorm.” 

The freshmen shuffled from the steps and took 
their places, one behind the other. The line stretched 

52 


CHEERING PRACTICE 


out into a large circle, with the grinning sophomores 
in the center. 

“Coats inside out and trousers rolled up,’’ the 
leader commanded. “And make it snappy.” 

They rolled up their trousers well above their 
knees and reversed their coats. The garment of one 
unfortunate freshman proved to be lined with some 
dark pink material which caught the eye of a rival 
classman. 

“Oh, boy I” he* called happily. “Look at that.” 

“Put him in front,” some one suggested. “Make 
him lead the line.” 

The freshman was led to the head of the long col- 
umn, his face the color of his lining. For a moment 
he was the cynosure of all eyes, and then another 
diversion occurred. The sophomores discovered a 
freshman wearing short trousers. 

“I can’t roll up my pants,” the youngster pro- 
tested. “What am I going to do?” 

The second-year leader regarded him with twink- 
ling eyes. 

“We have a baby among us,” he announced 
solemnly. “Get the carriage.” 

“You mean the cart?” some one asked. 

“Yes, go get it.” 

Two of the sophomores disappeared around the 
corner of the building, to return a minute later with 
53 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


a two-wheeled cart which was used by the college to 
carry mail to the post office. Into this they dumped 
the tiny freshman. Then the leader turned to an- 
other of his followers. 

“Run across the street to the drug store,” he whis- 
pered. “And get a bottle. They have them there.” 

When the messenger returned, he held in his hand 
a small nursing bottle, filled with milk — or at least, 
it looked like milk. Some genius among the sopho- 
mores fashioned a baby^s cap out of newspaper. 
Then, with bottle and cap, the boy who had been so 
rash as to enter State in short trousers was placed 
at the head of the procession. Two other fresh- 
men were detailed to push him, and the march to 
the field began. 

Both Ned and Dud enjoyed the experience; but 
neither was entirely happy, for they knew that the 
sophomores believed that they had tried to avoid the 
cheering practice. Already they had been placed in 
the class of commuters to whom the college meant 
nothing but a place at which to attend classes. 

Ned’s lips shut grimly. Just when things had be- 
gun to look bright again, this shadow had been cast 
over them. They were marked men; even their 
own classmates looked down on them. 

Once on the field, the grinning freshmen filed 

54 


CHEERING PRACTICE 


into the center section of the long, wooden stands 
and proceeded to learn the various college songs and 
cheers. Already a Y. M. C. A. handbook, or 
‘‘Freshman Bible,’’ as it was called, had been given 
to each of them; and with the words of the songs 
in front of them, they tried desperately to carry 
out the tunes as sung by the head song leader — and 
made rather a poor job of it. The yells went better, 
however; and before an hour had passed, they could 
boom out the “long locomotive” with a volume and 
precision which drew nods of approbation even 
from the critical sophomores. 

Ned cheered and sang with the others, but always 
his eyes followed the eighty or more football play- 
ers on the white-lined gridiron. Fat Ellsworth 
was there striding about importantly and apparently 
confident of his ability to win a place on the varsity. 
There was no scrimmage, but Coach Bailey spent a 
lot of time in teaching the new candidates the fun- 
damentals of the game. For the most part, the 
veteran players of last year and the year before 
were left to themselves; and Ned noticed that Bill 
Weston, the freshman fullback, was grouped with 
them in the afternoon’s work. He even ran through 
signals with the tentative varsity; and when the 
coach called a halt and excused the varsity men for 
55 ' 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


the day, Weston remained on the field and spent 
almost an hour punting the ball. 

There was something about him which appealed 
to Ned Beals strongly. There was no doubt of the 
fact that the freshman player was a football star 
of tlie first magnitude. He looked like a football 
man from the top of his well-molded head to the 
tip of his leather-cleated shoe. He weighed, Ned 
imagined, about one hundred and seventy pounds, 
and there was power in his heavily muscled arms 
and legs, strength in the breadth of his massive 
shoulders. 

But there was no sign of arrogance about him. 
He did his work quietly, without attempt at os- 
tentation ; and when occasionally Coach Bailey 
stopped to speak to him, he listened respectfully and 
nodded in agreement. He was a real man, it seemed 
to Ned, a fellow worth knowing. 

Snatches of the conversation of the freshmen in 
the stands came to Ned vaguely. 

“That fellow Weston’s a wonder,” he heard one 
of them say. “But some one told me yesterday that 
he’s got a swelled head.” 

Ned turned almost angrily to face the speaker. 
He did not know the reason for his sudden cham- 
pionship of BMl Weston, but he did know, after 

56 


CHEERING PRACTICE 


watching him that afternoon, that the freshman 
fullback was as modest a fellow as any one would 
wish to see. 

‘Who told you he has a swelled head?’^ Ned de- 
manded. 

The other boy looked at him amazedly. 

“Oh, I just heard it,“ he answered indifferently. 
“Anyhow, he’s a queer sort of duck.” 

A long cheer for the team prevented further 
words; but for the remainder of the afternoon, Ned 
was conscious of a vague resentment against his 
fellow classmates, against the sophomores par- 
ticularly, and the college in general. Somehow, he 
felt more or less out of things. 

It was because he was a commuter, he told him- 
self. The simple fact that he did not happen to 
live on the college campus apparently automatically 
debarred him from the charmed circle of college 
men. It didn’t seem fair. 

He resolved, however, to make the best of it; to 
overcome the handicap of being a commuter if such 
a thing were possible. He would get to know Bill 
Weston and fellows like him; he would take his 
part in the activities of the campus, would show 
them that he could be just as loyal to State as any 
one else. He would show them! 

57 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


On the way to Redway on the six-thirty train 
that evening, he turned to Dud Chambers with som- 
ber eyes. 

*‘Dud,'' he said, ^‘being commuters has sort of put 
us in wrong, hasn’t it?” 

The other boy nodded. 

“Yes,” he answered quietly, “but that won’t make 
any difference, Ned. We’ll keep right on plugging 
just the same.” 

That was the kind of fellow Dud Chambers was. 


CHAPTER V 


THE FULLBACK 

I T was rather good to get home after their first 
strenuous day at the college, and for a long 
time that night, Dud and Ned sat on the porch 
of Dud's home and talked things over. Had it not 
been for their chance meeting with Red Simmons 
and the prospect of the formation of the Commuters' 
Club, it is probable that they both would have been 
more than a little discouraged. For, in spite of the 
fact that they would not have missed the experience 
for worlds, they admitted that college had not been 
all they had expected it to be. The fellows they had 
met had been cordial enough and had entertained 
them royally, but there had, nevertheless, been some- 
thing lacking in their attitude, something which the 
two boys found it hard to define. 

“It's because we're commuters," Dud declared. 
“As soon as they find that out, they change some- 
how!" 


59 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


“But Faf s a commuter too,” Ned put in. “No- 
body seems to hold it against him.” 

“That’s because he told them that he wasn’t going 
to commute.” Dud turned questioning eyes toward 
his chum. “I wonder if he w going to stay dawn?” 
he asked. 

“He says he is.” 

“Yes, but — ” Dud did not finish the sentence. 
Both boys were aware of Fat’s tendency to talk too 
much. As far as they knew, Fat had no intention 
of living at the college, and they dimly suspected 
that their former schoolmate was letting his imagin- 
ation run away with him. But they were loath to 
voice the suspicion. In spite of his faults. Fat was 
a good fellow at heart; but he needed some one to 
hold him down, to watch over him. Ned resolved 
to have a good talk with him; but Fat was still at 
the campus enjoying the hospitality of the Kappa 
Kappa Fraternity, and there was no opportunity 
that evening. 

“He’s likely to get in wrong,” Ned told himself. 
“I’ll try to see him the first thing to-mofrow.” 

But Fat was in a different section of the class, and 
Ned had no chance to talk with him the following 
morning. At noontime he forgot about Fat, for 
Red Simmons spied him as he came out of the En- 
gineering Building and insisted that they hurry 
6o 


THE FULLBACK 


down to the gymnasium for the organization meet- 
ing of the Commuters* Club. 

“The fellow I told you about yesterday is com- 
ing/* he announced. “His name’s Slim Weber and 
he played center on the Brookfield High School 
basketball team last year. He looks like a bean 
pole, but he’s a regular fellow all through.” 

“Where’s Brookfield?” Ned asked curiously. 

“Five miles or so up the river. Slim comes to 
college every day in a trolley car.” 

“Did you find any one else?” 

“Not yet, but we’ll keep our eyes open and get 
about seven men. That ought to be enough.” 

Ned nodded. The director of the gymnasium 
stood inside the doorway as they entered the build- 
ing, and nodded to them pleasantly. 

“Things going all right?” he asked. 

“Yes, sir.” 

The older man hesitated for a moment. 

“I’ve got a boy inside whom I want you fellows to 
meet,” he said finally. “His name’s Hal Bowman, 
and he lives about two miles the other side of town.” 

“We’ll be glad to know him,” Red put in instantly. 

“He’s working his way through college,” the di- 
rector continued. “He gets his meals and lodging 
by helping around the house where he lives. He’s 
also got a job here at the gym as a sort of assistant 
6i 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


janitor. He brings his lunch noons, and I want 
him to make friends with some college fellows. 
Would you men care to have him down in the locker 
room with you?'' 

Ned hesitated, but Red Simmons answered at 
once. 

“Sure," he said. “Bring him along." 

Ned was just a bit ashamed of his hesitation. 
Instinctively, he had held back because of the fact 
that Bowman was poor. He felt the clear eyes of 
the director searching his own, and his face grew 
crimson. 

“Surely, bring him along," he hastened to add. 

The older man smiled in obvious relief. 

“He's inside," he said. “I’ll have you meet him." 

Bowman was a big awkward chap who greeted 
them shyly. He wore a flannel shirt and heavy 
tan shoes; and if his suit had ever been pressed, the 
bagginess of the trousers gave little indication of 
it. But his eyes were clear blue, and the grip which 
he gave Ned caused a stab of pain to shoot through 
the other boy’s arm. 

“Let's ga downstairs and have our meeting," 
Red Simmons suggested. 

He led them down to the locker room, where they 
found Dud awaiting them. A few minutes later 
another boy came in. It was Slim Weber, whom 
62 


THE FULLBACK 


Red Simmons greeted cheerfully and introduced to 
the others. Slim was probably the tallest boy in 
the freshman class; well dressed, with keen gray 
eyes and a small mouth which set determinedly over 
a cleft chin. After one glance at him, Ned decided 
that he was the kind of fellow who would make a 
good friend. 

It was a rather strange group of boys who formed 
the Commuters’ Club during that noon hour of the 
second day of college. For some reason that he 
could not understand, Ned was chosen president. 
The membership included Dud Chambers, who 
easily could have afforded to live at Collegeville if 
he had wanted to; Red Simmons and Slim Weber, 
who dressed in good taste and who were obviously 
gentlemen ; and Hal Bowman, who was confessedly 
poor and so far more or less of an unknown quan- 
tity. With the exception of Hal, they were all good 
fraternity material, but they had all been ‘‘passed 
up” by the fraternities of State. Admittedly, they 
could not be of the elect unless they roomed on the 
campus. 

They learned a good deal about each other during 
that first hour together. Simmons lived in Bridge- 
wood, a dozen miles or so along the railroad in the 
direction away from Red way. He had played 
basketball on his high school team and had been presi- 

63 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


dent of his senior class. Slim Weber lived in Brook- 
field and, as Red had explained, commuted to College- 
ville by trolley. Bowman roomed in town, but was 
working his way through college. He had played 
football on one of the New York high school teams 
and had spent the preceding summer as a life saver 
on the Jersey coast. In spite of his awkwardness, 
he looked every inch an athlete. 

Ned liked him better after talking to him for a 
time. He did not deny the fact that he was poor 
and that his college education depended entirely on 
his ability to earn his own way. He spoke little 
during the meeting, but listened carefully to every- 
thing that was said, and Ned was conscious of the 
fact that he was watching them all closely, weighing 
them in the balance. It occurred to him that for all 
of his shyness. Bowman was something of a leader. 
He gave the impression of quiet strength, of com- 
plete independence. 

They were all sorry when the one o’clock bell 
called them to classes. Ned was scheduled for His- 
tory at three o’clock, but until that hour his time was 
his own; and for want of something better to do, he 
decided to walk along the river bank down toward 
the old wharves in the lower part of the town. He 
wished that Dud could go with him, but Dud was 

64 


THE FULLBACK 


taking an Engineering course and had a class in 
Algebra. So he wandered off by himself. 

At the north gate of the campus, he almost 
bumped into Fat Ellsworth and Merle Sneddon. 
Fat greeted him pleasantly, pounded him on the 
back, asked him how he was getting along. Ned 
regarded his former schoolmate doubtfully, for he 
knew that Fat was taking the same course as Dud 
and was scheduled for a class that hour. 

“Shouldn't you be over in the Engineering Build- 
ing?" he asked. 

Fat laughed unconcernedly. 

“Maybe I ought to be," he answerefd. “But 
college hasn't really settled down yet and it won't 
matter whether I go to class to-day or not." 

“We two birds aren't going to kill ourselves 
studying," Sneddon put in boastfully. “Come on. 
Fat, let's hike over to the house." 

They did not invite Ned to go with them, and af- 
ter they had strolled arm and arm up the campus 
path, Ned regarded their receding backs doubtfully. 
Something had happened to Fat; he was changed. 
He had always been more or less irresponsible, but 
his success at college seemed to have gone to his 
head. Ned remembered reading somewhere that 
college either made or broke a man; and he knew 

65 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


instinctively that if Fat kept on the way he was go- 
ing, he would not last a single year. He would be 
flunked out. 

Reaching the river bank, Ned turned and fol- 
lowed the line of old wharves which jutted out into 
the water. Years ago, Collegeville had been some- 
thing of a shipping center, but the river channel had 
filled up and had never been dredged again. The 
docks were deserted, the piling rotted and decayed. 
Fifty yards or so downstream from where he stood, 
lay the wreck of an old boat, sunk deep in mud, ten 
feet or more from the nearest pier. 

Ned sat down on a handy piling and looked out 
over the river. The day was warm, almost like 
midsummer, and he wondered if any of the college 
fellows would take advantage of the heat for a 
plunge in the water. If the men in the Commuters* 
Club had been free, he would have suggested it to 

them. He rather thought that they would have ac- 
cepted his suggestion readily; they were that kind 
— a good bunch. 

He wondered vaguely why it was that they had 
elected him president. He had been something of 
a leader in high school, of course, but none of the 
others, with the exception of Dud, had known him 

then. And Dud had not made the nomination. 

66 


THE FULLBACK 


He shook his head doubtfully, but he was pleased, 
nevertheless. 

The fellows in the club were real men as far as he 
could see. They were different in a way from the 
boys he had met in the fraternity house; not quite so 
self-possessed and rather less worldly. But they 
were mtuml. Reviewing his first night at the 
college, Ned came to the conclusion that the frater- 
nity men had acted as if they were entertaining 
company. They had been on their best behavior. 
He wondered what they would be like after the 
‘‘rushing season” was over. He was glad that they 
had not asked him to join; he really didn't know 
them at all. 

He was vaguely conscious of the figure of a man 
on the old pier farther down the river. He arose 
from the seat and walked to the end of his own 
wharf. It wasn’t a man, after all, but a boy, a stur 
dent probably. He looked again, and a second keen 
glance disclosed the identity of the lone figure. It 
was Bill Weston, the football player. 

Ned watched him curiously, wondering why un- 
der the sun Weston should be in such a place at such 
a time. The other boy strode to the end of the pier 
and seemed to be measuring the distance to the old 
boat imbedded in the river. Finally, he walked 
67 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


back twenty yards or so, turned, and dashed at full 
speed toward the end of the pier. Ned’s eyes al- 
most popped out of his head ; Weston was going to 
try to jump to the boat. 

The runner reached the edge of the wharf and 
leaped high and far. But it was a poor jump, and 
Ned knew instantly that he could not make it. 
Weston's hands reached out, pawed the air, his feet 
kicked wildly. He missed his objective by a clean 
yard, twisted his body, and fell with a splash into 
the water. 

Ned was inclined to laugh at first. It seemed so 
ridiculous, trying a stunt like that, with nobody near 
by and with no apparent purpose. He had heard 
that Weston was a queer chap, but he had never im- 
agined that he would do a thing like that. Ned 
grinned broadly. 

Then, as the other boy came to the surface, his 
grin faded. For Weston’s face was as white as a 
sheet, and his eyes glanced around dazedly. He had 
probably struck his head on some hidden obstruction 
beneath the water. 

He splashed around wildly, as one who is not ac- 
customed to swimming. But he did not cry out. 
Reaching the side of the sunken barge, he grasped 
its smooth, slimy surface with gripping fingers. 

68 


THE FULLBACK 


But there was nothing to hold to; his hand slipped, 
and he disappeared beneath the water. 

Ned knew then that the football player was in a 
bad way. Unless help cam^, he was in danger of 
drowning. But there was no help in sight, nobody 
to aid him except 

Ned threw off his own coat, reached down and un- 
laced his shoes. Weston had come to the surface 
again, was splashing around desperately. Without a 
moment of hesitation, Ned dove into the water and 
swam with strong strokes toward the other boy. 
When finally he reached him, Weston turned, wild- 
eyed, and gripped him around the neck. Together, 
they sank below the surface. 

The hold on his neck grew stronger, threatened 
to choke him. Ned reached up and seized the arm 
which encircled him. But he could not release the 
clutch ; the muscles which imprisoned him were hard 
as steel bands. 

For a moment, his senses whirled. He could feel 
himself being dragged down, away from the sur- 
face, away from the air which would mean life to 
them both. The water was warm, but curiously 
colored, like a murky gray cloud. Myriad small 
lights flashed through it. 

Ned had learned something about life-saving in 

69 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


the Redway Y. M. C. A. the preceding winter. 
Flashes of his training came to him ; he remembered 
that the physical director had once told him how to 
break a drowning man's grip. And he knew that 
if anything was to be done, it would have to be done 
instantly. 

His face was against Weston’s shoulder, his eyes 
staring into the water beyond the other boy. But 
his hands were free. Drawing back his left arm, he 
struck the clinging figure with all his waning 
strength squarely in the pit of his stomach. The 
viselike grip weakened. Ned struck again. 

Suddenly the tense body of Weston relaxed. 
Ned shifted his position, kicked free. He was con- 
scious of an almost overwhelming desire to swim to 
the surface, to fill his bursting lungs with air. But 
he fought back the temptation, reached down and 
seized the unconscious Weston behind his shoulder 
blades. Fighting desperately for air, handicapped 
by the dead weight in his arms, he struggled toward 
the surface. The water became lighter, his eyes 
stared from their sockets, his lungs pounded. He 
decided that he could never make it. 

But he did not let go. Some fighting instinct 
within him refused to permit him to relinquish his 
burden. If he himself should reach the surface, 
70 


THE FULLBACK 


Weston would reach it with him. If he didn’t get 
up 

Strange sounds roared in his ears. The darting 
lights grew brighter, his jaw dropped. 

And then, suddenly, the warmth of the sun beat 
down upon him. He was breathing. 

The air revived him instantly, brought him back 
again to clear thinking. Hardly ten yards away, he 
discovered a strip of muddy bank. Swimming on 
his back and supporting Weston with his arms, he 
fought his way steadily toward the shore. He 
thought for a time that he would never reach it, but 
finally his groping feet touched the muddy bottom 
of the river. 

With a sigh of infinite relief, he stood up shoulder 
deep in the water and dragged Weston after him to 
the bank. The other boy was heavy, but fortun- 
ately the bank was low; and with a last, supreme 
effort, Ned lifted him over the edge and scrambled 
out after him. 

Then, infinitely tired, he sank down upon the 
ground and glanced hopefully around him. But no 
one was in sight; only the empty wharves and the 
rotting mud scow met his eager eyes. 

He climbed to his feet and stood looking down 
uncertainly upon the pale face of the freshman foot- 
71 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


ball player. As he looked, Weston opened his eyes 
and stared blankly about him. 

Ned almost cried aloud in sheer relief. Weston 
was alive, was coming back to consciousness. And 
he, Ned Beals, had saved him. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE FLAG RUSH 

I T was easier than Ned had imagined to get 
Weston back to the dormitory. The football 
player recovered his strength in a remarkably 
short time and was able to walk with his rescuer to a 
drug store a block or so away, from which Ned tele- 
phoned for a taxicab. Ten minutes later, they were 
in Weston’s study in the corner of the Main Dormi- 
tory, where Ned waited silently while the other boy 
changed into dry clothing. It was the first time he 
had ever been inside a college dormitory, and he 
gazed around curiously. 

The room was just about what he had imagined a 
college room to be. Two large windows looked out 
upon the shaded campus; and in front of the win- 
dows were broad seats, low, and covered with pil- 
lows of all descriptions. On one wall hung a square 
felt banner with the words ‘‘St. James” emblazoned 
upon it; and on the other three walls were pictures 
73 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


of baseball and basketball teams, a view of a prepar- 
atory school, and two crossed tennis rackets with a 
small silver cup fastened between them. It occur- 
red to Ned that it would be easy to study in such a 
place; it was a typical student’s room, and for the 
first time since he entered college he was sorry that 
he could not live in the dormitory. Johnson and 
the others had been right ; a man missed more than 
he realized by not living on the campus. 

Bill Weston came out after a time. There was a 
small lump on his forehead where he had struck 
against a sunken log after hitting the water, but 
otherwise he seemed none the worse for his adven- 
ture. He motioned Ned into a seat near the center 
table, leaned back in his own chair against the wall 
and regarded the other boy silently. 

‘T suppose you’re wondering what I was doing 
down at the wharves,” he began almost abruptly. 
“I just happened to wander over that way; I wanted 
to be by myself so that I could go over the football 
signals.” He smiled apologetically. ‘"After a while 
I saw that old scow in the river, and I began to figure 
whether I could jump over to it or not. I decided 
that the only way to find out was to try it, and — well 
you know the rest as well as I do.” 

“But what good did it do you to attempt the thing 
all by yourself?” Ned demanded. “If some one 
74 


THE FLAG RUSH 


had been there to dare you to do it, or something 
like that, it might have been different. But ” 

The football player smiled into his puzzled eyes. 

‘Tt didn’t make any difference whether any one 
was there or not,” he answered. ‘T didn’t make the 
jump to show off to somebody ; I just wanted to sat- 
isfy myself.” Weston stared vacantly through the 
open window. “That’s sort of a peculiarity of 
mine,” he explained slowly. “I don’t do things to 
show off or to make an impression on somebody. 
It’s the same way in baseball and football and other 
things; I play them because I want to. If I didn’t 
want to, I wouldn’t play.” 

He relapsed into silence, and Ned regarded him 
curiously. He had never known a fellow like 
Weston before. 

Suddenly the football player shifted his position 
and looked squarely into Ned’s eyes. 

“You saved my life,” he said simply, “and I’m not 
going to forget it. There isn’t any way that I can 
thank you, except by promising to stick by you just 
as long as you want me to. I’d like to be friends, 
real friends, if you’re willing.” 

Ned smiled embarrassedly. 

“You weren’t quite so bad off as that,” he an- 
swered quickly. “But as far as the friendship part 
of it is concerned, I — Td — that would be fine.” 
75 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


‘"It's a go, then.” The other boy crossed the room 
and held out his hand. ‘‘Let’s shake on it.” 

They talked for almost an hour after that brief 
handclasp which was to signify a big event in Ned 
Beals’ college life; and when the bell pealed out the 
three o’clock hour, Ned rose reluctantly. 

“I’ve got to go to Latin class,” he announced. 
“But I want you to know that I’ve enjoyed this a 
lot. Bill.” 

The other boy nodded. 

“So have I,” he answered shortly. “But wait a 
second and I’ll toddle along with you. I’m taking 
Latin, too, you know.” 

Ned didn’t know it, but he was glad that his new- 
found friend would be in one class with him, at least. 
He found, though, before the recitation was over 
that however much of a star Weston might be on 
the football field, he was anything but a good Latin 
student. He flunked miserably when the professor 
called upon him to recite, and there was a worried 
light in his eyes when he walked out of the class- 
room. 

“I’m an awful bonehead in Latin,” he confided 
to Ned, when once they were safely outside. “It 
isn’t that I don’t study enough, but I just can’t get 
the stuff.” 

“Maybe it will come easier after you get into it.” 

76 


THE FLAG RUSH 


“Maybe it will, and maybe it won't.” Weston 
grinned dubiously. “Anyhow, I’ve got to get up 
to football practice. And say, Ned, when I tell the 
fellows about what you’ve done, you’ll be a regular 
college hero.” 

“I — I — ” Ned glanced around at the other 
members of the class, but they were all hurrying 
away toward the dormitory and no one had heard 
the conversation. “I’d rather you wouldn’t say 
anything. Bill,” he declared. “It won’t do any 
good, and well — I’d rather we kept quiet about it.” 

The other boy regarded him questioningly, saw^ 
that he meant what he said, and nodded in sudden 
understanding. 

“All right, Ned,” he answered. “We’ll just keep 
it between ourselves, then. But I want you to know 
that I’m not going to forget.” 

“It really wasn’t anything.” 

“That all depends on how you look at it.” Weston 
turned toward the gymnasium. “Come up to see 
me whenever you can,” he urged. “You’ll find the 
door open — always.” 

They walked down to the gym together, Weston 
to change into football togs and Ned to wait in the 
commuters’ room until Dud should come. He de- 
bated for a time whether or not he should tell Dud 
of the happenings of the afternoon; but he had 
77 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


never yet kept anything from his chum and he de- 
cided finally that it would do no harm to let Dud 
know about it. 

‘‘That’s a mighty fine thing for you,” Dud de- 
clared, after Ned had finished his story. ‘T’ve been 
talking to some of the fellows, and they say that 
Weston’s going to be about half of the football 
team this year.” 

They debated whether or not they would go to 
practice that afternoon, but finally decided against 
it. It would mean that they could not get home un- 
til well after six o’clock, and they were both anxious 
to get a good start in their lessons. 

“But we want to watch out that we don’t sneak 
home every afternoon,” Dud suggested. “That’s 
just the thing that makes the college so sore against 
commuters. We’ll stay down to-morrow.” 

It was fortunate that they had decided to do so, 
for the next morning after Chapel a group of 
juniors advised them that they were expected to re- 
port at the Commons at four o’clock for the annual 
Flag Rush between the freshmen and the sopho- 
mores. 

“Be sure to show up,” they said wamingly. 
“It’s a big affair.” 

Ned wondered vaguely just what the Flag Rush 

78 


THE FLAG RUSH 


was, but during lunch in the locker room, Red Sim- 
mons pulled his Freshman Bible from his pocket 
and turned to the paragraph which had to do with 
that item of class warfare. 

“Sometime during the first week of college,” he 
read, “a Flag Rush will be held between the mem- 
bers of the freshman and sophomore classes. The 
Rush will be held on the Commons, and the sopho- 
mores will be given possession of a red flag three 
feet square. The freshmen, at a given signal, will 
try to take the flag from the sophomores. At the 
end of five minutes, the juniors will call a halt; and 
the class which has the most hands on the flag at 
that time will be adjudged the winner.” 

“Where's the Commons?” Dud asked, when Red 
had finished reading. 

“At the far-end of the campus across the street 
from the athletic field,” Slim Weber answered. 
“We're all going in the rush, I suppose.” 

“You bet we are.” 

“How about clothes?” Dud asked. “We can't 
very well wear what we have on.” 

“If we do, there won’t be very much left of 
them,” Red Simmons answered. 

The members of the Commuters' Club gazed at 
one another doubtfully. Then Ned spoke. 

79 


NED BEALS. FRESHMAN 


‘Tve got a free hour between two and three/^ he 
announced. “That will give me time to go home 
and get some old stuff for Dud and me.” 

“But how about us?' Red demanded. 

“Oh, we’ll get along all right,” Slim put in. 
“If necessary, we can buy some overalls downtown.” 

“Yes, so we can!” Red spoke sarcastically. 
“The only trouble is that I’ve got just thirteen cents 
to my name, and not much prospect of getting any 
more.” 

But Slim only smiled quietly. 

“I’ll lend you the money,” he said. 

For a moment Red regarded him curiously ; then 
he bowed in mock deference. 

“Behold John D. Rockefeller!” he announced. 

Ned, however, left Slim and Red to solve their 
own problems ; and as soon as his one o’clock class 
was finished; he hurried across the campus to the 
railroad station. He was just about to buy a news- 
paper at the small stand downstairs when he felt a 
hand on his arm. Turning, he discovered Jim 
Peebles, president of the sophomore class, regarding 
him suspiciously. 

“Trying to sneak out of the rush this afternoon, 
are you?” he demanded. “Still up to the old 
stuff ?” 

Ned’s eyes shone angrily. 

80 


THE FLAG RUSH 


‘‘Fm not trying to sneak out of anything/^ he re- 
torted. ‘T’m on my way home to get some old 
clothes; and Fll be back here again at three o^clock.^^ 

“Why, surely, of course you will !” The sopho- 
more leader smiled knowingly. “Just running 
home for a little pleasure jaunt, I suppose.’’ 

“I haven’t any class this hour, and Fm going home 
for some old clothes,” Ned explained evenly. “If 
you don’t believe me, you don’t have to. But Fm 
telling you the truth and you can do what you want 
to about it.” 

“Humph! Real saucy, aren’t you?” Suddenly, 
Peebles’ face grew serious. “The sophomores 
have got their eyes on you and your bunch, Beals,” 
he announced warningly. “We let that fellow Sim- 
mons off for what he did at cheering practice, but 
we’ve got one black mark against all of you, and if 
you try to get away with anything else, you’re likely 
to get paddled. Do you understand?” 

“We’re not trying to get away with anything.” 
Ned spoke quietly enough, although his heart was 
beating like a trip hammer. “And if you don’t find 
me at the rush this afternoon, you’re welcome to 
paddle me or do an3rthing else you care to.” 

“And if you’re not there, that’s just what will 
happen to you,” Peebles replied grimly. “Fll keep 
my eyes open for you.” 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


When he had gone, Ned glanced after him resent- 
fully. He resolved to keep v^atch for the sopho- 
more leader during the rush; he might get back 
at him there. 

At four o’clock, the members of the Commuters^ 
Club changed into older clothes and made ready for 
the affair at the Commons. Slim Weber had evi- 
dently made good his offer to Red Simmons, for 
both of them were attired in spotless, well-fitting 
overalls. It occurred to Ned that Slim was rather 
foolish to spend his money so carelessly. Still, it 
was Slim’s lookout. 

They found practically the entire freshman class, 
with the exception of the football players, gathered 
on the Commons. After a good deal of prelimin- 
ary talk, the sophomores grouped themselves around 
a square of red cloth which Ned could glimpse oc- 
casionally between their shifting figures, and the 
freshmen lined up along the sidewalk, thirty yards 
or so away. A junior whose name Ned did not 
know held up his hand for silence and gave them 
their directions. 

‘When I shoot the gun,” he explained, “it’s the 
signal for you fellows to get that flag away from the 
sophs. It doesn’t matter how you get it so long as 
you don’t slug or do any other dirty work. If you 
haven’t wrenched it free by the end of five minutes, 
82 


THE FLAG RUSH 


the gun goes off again. Then, whichever class has 
the most hands on the flag wins.” 

A1 Thompson, a big, black-haired boy who was in 
Dud’s section, nodded grimly and turned to his 
classmates. 

*'Come on, men,” he said. “Let’s get at ’em.” 

It looked to Ned as if the sophomores had the 
better of the argument. They already had pos- 
session of the flag, and there were at least seventy- 
five of them backed against the small group in the 
center of the circle and prepared to withstand the 
freshman onslaught. However, the first year men 
outnumbered them two to one. If they could pene- 
trate the outer defenses of the sophomores and once 
reach the flag, their chances of victory would be 
more than even. 

At the crack of the gun they rushed forward and 
hurled themselves upon the outer rim of defiant 
sophomores. Upper classmen yelled shrill words of 
encouragement; the group of sophs with hands on 
the flag, sank to the ground, almost burying the 
bunting beneath them. If their cohorts could keep 
the freshmen from dragging them to their feet, they 
would win. 

Ned Beals, with the glowing-eyed Dud beside him, 
plunged head foremost into the mass of straining 
sophomores. Some one reached out from the crowd 

83 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


and pulled him to the ground; other freshmen fell 
over on top of him. In a moment, he was almost 
smothered by the pressing weight of human bodies. 
He found it hard to breathe; and struggle as he 
might, he could not extricate himself from the mass. 

For a moment, he was actually frightened. He 
lay in semidarkness, his face pressed against the 
ground, while seemingly from a great distance 
came the sound of harsh cheering. And then, so 
suddenly that he could hardly believe it, the weight 
on top of him grew lighter; with a mighty effort he 
rolled over on his side, avoided a yelling sophomore 
who shot at him like a catapult, and scrambled to 
his feet. 

Strangely, the pile of figures on top of the flag had 
become surprisingly smaller. For an instant, he 
glimpsed a bit of the red flag, and with a wild thump- 
ing of his heart, he dove at it, felt the rough cloth be- 
tween his fingers. Gripping it desperately, he held 
on with all the strength he possessed, while sopho- 
mores tugged at his feet and shoulders, and bodies 
piled on top of him again. 

After another minute, however, he found himself 
comparatively free. The majority of the contes- 
tants were engaged somewhere on the outer rim of 
the circle; and as he climbed to his feet again, he 
noted almost with amazement that only one person 
84 


THE FLAG RUSH 


besides himself was clutching the flag. And then, 
his heart missed a beat, for the fellow who faced 
him was none other than Jim Peebles, the president 
of the sophomore class. 

For an instant, their glances met, challengingly, 
defiantly. And then, calling upon all the strength of 
his sinewy arms, Ned dug his fingers into the cloth 
and gave a mighty tug. Either Peebles’ hold on the 
flag was a weak one or he was caught off his guard 
by the ferocity of the freshman’s attack, for even be- 
fore Ned realized it, the sophomore’s grip relaxed, 
and in another instant, Ned found himself in sole 
possession of the flag. 

Some one reached for it, but he jerked it away 
from the clutching fingers, rolled it into a ball and 
jammed it down the front of his trousers. And 
then, wild-eyed and pale of face, he turned quickly, 
fought his way out of the mass of straining bodies 
and dashed with desperate speed across the Com- 
mons. 

From behind him, rose a shrill yell of warning. 
Glancing over his shoulder, he glimpsed a score or 
more figures in full pursuit. Shutting his lips 
grimly, he sped down the street in the direction of 
the main campus. 

Out of the din of thunderous yelling, sounded the 
sharp crack of a gun. The Flag Rush was ended, 

85 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


and he alone of all the two hundred contestants was 
in possession of the flag. 

He wondered vaguely whether he should stop and 
return to the Commons or whether he should keep 
on running and try to escape with the flag intact. 
It seemed to him as if the rules of the game called 
for the latter procedure, and so he continued his 
wild dash down the street, while heavy footsteps 
pounded behind him and the pursuit began in 
earnest. 

Reaching the campus, he raced up the gravel path, 
dodged behind a building, and headed for a high 
iron fence which bordered Somerville Street. He 
did not notice the fence until he had almost reached 
it; and then, he realized with a disheartened pang 
that he would be caught unless, somehow, he could 
get over it before the sophomores could reach 
him. 

He could not turn and run for the gate without 
sacrificing his precious lead of thirty yards or more; 
and he realized too that if he stopped to clamber 
over the fence, his pursuers would be upon him. 
The campus at that point, however, was a foot or 
more above the level of the street, and there was a 
chance that he could leap it without striking the iron 
pickets. There was no time in which to weigh the 
matter carefully; there were only two things to do, 
86 


THE FLAG RUSH 


to jump or to submit to capture. He chose the 
former. 

Without slackening his gait in the slightest degree, 
he ran for the fence, measured the distance and 
leaped high in the air. His feet cleared the top 
picket by a single inch; he struck the sidewalk on 
the far side, stumbled, caught himself, and dashed 
ahead. The first of the sophomores, reaching the 
fence, halted in his tracks, turned and dashed toward 
the gate. Ned, seeing a livery stable directly ahead 
of him, rushed through the open door, discovered 
another opening at the far end, and made for it 
with all speed. Once, he glanced back at the cam- 
pus, and was just in time to see one of the sopho- 
mores leap the fence after him. With his breath 
coming in short gasps, he shut his lips grimly and 
continued his mad race. But he knew that now he 
would have only one sophomore to contend with, 
for the others were hopelessly outdistanced. 

He reached a side street in the rear of the stable, 
and followed its course toward the river. Just be- 
fore he turned the first corner, he glimpsed the lone 
sophomore again in full pursuit. 

He was tired, more tired than he had ever been; 
his legs felt like lead and queer pains shot through 
his chest. But he did not give up, he only tried his 
best to continue the fast pace he had set for himself. 

87 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


But after two blocks had passed, he knew that the 
sophomore was gaining; and he knew, too, that un- 
less he could evade his pursuer, it would only be a 
question of time before he would be captured. 

Glancing around wildly, he caught sight of a large 
furniture truck rumbling toward him. Still run- 
ning swiftly, Ned waited until the truck had caught 
up to him; and then, with a final desperate sprint, 
he rushed out into the street, grasped the rear end 
of the truck and lifted himself aboard. The driver 
looked around curiously, but said nothing. 

Hardly twenty yards away, the pursuing sopho- 
more made a desperate attempt to increase his speed 
and catch up to the rumbling machine. But it was 
a losing race from the beginning, and after a half 
block had been passed, he slowed down to a walk 
and shook his fist angrily at the grinning freshman. 

And then, with victory in sight, Ned pulled the 
red flag from beneath his belt and waved it defiantly 
at his lone pursuer. It was not until then that he 
recognized the sophomore as Jim Peebles, leader of 
the rival class. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE CLASS MEETING 

N ed reached home without further mishap. 

Fortunately, the truck on which he had 
made his escape continued straight through 
Collegeville to the neighboring town of Seaville, 
where Ned caught a trolley to Red way. Once home, 
he hid the flag in a far comer of his attic, and for the 
first time since the msh drew a sigh of real relief. 

He had no way of knowing how his action would 
be received by the sophomores; and while he was 
glad that he had brought victory to the freshman 
class, he was, nevertheless, a bit apprehensive. He 
did not know whether the members of the rival class 
would consider that he had broken the rules of the 
game by running away with the flag, or whether they 
would take their defeat in good part and permit him 
to enjoy the fruits of victory. He was glad of one 
thing, however; at least he had shown them that a 
commuter could be as loyal a member of the fresh- 
man class as any one else. 

89 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


After supper Dud dropped around to Ned’s home, 
and told him something of what had occurred at the 
conclusion of the Flag Rush. 

“You sure did cause a sensation,” he announced 
joyfully. “As soon as the gun was fired, the presi- 
dent of the junior class declared that the freshmen 
had won by a score of 2 to o.” 

Ned smiled happily. 

“That means, then, that mine were the only hands 
on the flag, doesn’t it?” he asked. 

The other boy nodded. 

“From what I could find out,” he said, “you are 
the only person who ever got away with the flag since 
rushes were begun at the college. I don’t think that 
the fellows have stopped talking about it yet.” 

Ned, however, only smiled dubiously. 

“Did you hear what the sophomores are going to 
do about it?” he asked. “Maybe they’ll paddle me 
when I go back to college to-morrow. Jim Peebles 
said he had his eye on all of us, you know.” 

But Dud laughed away his fears. 

“The sophomores are a good bunch of sports,” 
he answered confidently. “Unless Fm pretty much 
mistaken, they’ll take their defeat like men and not 
do anything more about it.” 

It seemed that Dud was right, for the next morn- 
90 


THE CLASS MEETING 


ing when Ned walked up the campus path to Chapel, 
he found himself something of a hero. Members 
of his own class greeted him joyfully, clapped him 
on the back, asked him what he had done with the 
flag, and proclaimed him a hero of the highest order. 
Sophomores glared at him and frowned into his 
questioning eyes. But there was no open hostility in 
their glances, and one or two of them even grinned 
at him sheepishly. Even the upper classmen stopped 
to look at him when he passed through the Chapel 
door. He was, for the time being, the most talked 
of man on the college campus. 

It was in the locker room at the gym, however, 
that he received his greatest measure of praise. Red 
Simmons, Slim Weber and Hal Bowman greeted 
him as a returning hero, and were loud in their 
praises of what he had done. 

‘‘You’ve knocked all college records to smash,” 
Red chuckled gleefully, “and you have shown the 
fellows down here that even a commuter can do 
something worth while. 

“It’s been a good thing for us,” Slim Weber put 
in quietly. “Just the fact that we have been going 
around with you will make things easier for us all. 
We’ve almost overcome the handicap of not living at 
college.” 

“How about the flag?” Hal Bowman asked cur^ 

91 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


iously. “What are you going to do with it?’' 

Ned did not know quite what to answer; he had 
been wondering just what use he could make of the 
captured bunting, and was at a loss as to the best 
means of disposing of it. Whatever else he did, 
however, he knew that it must not get back into 
the hands of the sophomores, and that, if possible, 
it should be utilized to impress upon the second- 
year men the victory which the freshmen had gained. 

“I think ril wait until after the class meeting this 
afternoon,” he answered finally. “Then when we 
have a president and other officers, we’ll let them 
decide what to do with the flag.” 

“What about the class meeting?” Red Simmons 
put in. “Nobody has told me anything about it.” 

“It’s going to be held in York Hall at four o’clock 
this afternoon,” Slim Weber explained. “It’s the 
organization meeting of the class, when we elect our 
officers under the direction of the juniors.” 

“But how about the sophs?” Red wanted to know. 
“Won’t they try to break up the meeting?” 

“Not this one,” Slim answered. “I understand 
that the upper classmen have ruled that nothing will 
be done to break up a freshman meeting until the 
class is organized.” 

“We’ll all go, of course,” Dud put in. “Now that 
we’ve begun to get known around college, v^e don’t 
92 


THE CLASS MEETING 


want to let people think that we’re not interested in 
college activities.” 

*'We ought to do even more than that,” Red 
Simmons suggested. 'Tt seems to me that Ned 
ought to stand a good chance to be a class officer.” 

But Ned vetoed the suggestion instantly. 

‘T wouldn’t have a chance in the world of being 
elected,” he declared. ^‘And just because I hap- 
pened to get away with the flag, we don’t want to 
push ourselves too much. There will be plenty of 
time for things like that later.” 

Dud Qiambers, however, looked thoughtful ; and 
when the five of them walked together to the place of 
the meeting that afternoon, Ned noticed that Dud 
and Slim were talking rather earnestly. 

The meeting was in charge of the president of the 
junior class; and although a group of sophomores 
hung around the building, they made no attempt to 
enter the room in which the freshmen were gathered. 
Outside of a few muttered grumblings, there was no 
indication of a renewal of the class conflict of the 
day before. 

Possibly one hundred and fifty freshmen were 
present when the junior called the meeting to order. 
Almost as soon as he had stated the purpose of the 
gathering, a tall, dark-haired boy stood up in the 
front row and nominated Bill Weston, the football 
93 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


player, for presideat of the freshman class. At the 
mention of Weston’s name, there was a burst of 
handclapping and a smattering of cheers; but as 
soon as the nomination was seconded, Bill himself 
rose to his feet and turned toward his fellow class- 
mates. 

''I want to withdraw my name from the nomina- 
tion,” he announced evenly. ‘‘I appreciate the honor 
and all that, but I’ve got enough to do just now 
with the football team, and I don’t want to run for 
the presidency.” 

He spoke quietly enough; and for an instant Ned 
thought that he was only talking for effect, but there 
was something in the way that his steady glance 
swept them that convinced his classmates, after a 
moment of hesitation, that he meant exactly what he 
said. With a few muttered protests, the boy who 
had nominated him withdrew his name, and the 
meeting settled down to its usual routine. 

A fellow by the name of Lee Dickinson proved to 
be the second choice for president. Ned had never 
seen him before, but he learned that he was a base- 
ball player of some scholastic reputation, and that 
he came from one of the biggest high schools of the 
state. 

“It’s the fellows who come from the large schools 
that have the best chance here at State,” Dud whis- 
94 


THE CLASS MEETING 


pered to Ned. ‘Trobably all the officers will be 
from the big schools.” 

But when the time came to nominate men for vice 
president, Dud himself rose to his feet and suggested 
the name of Ned Beals. 

‘‘He’s the fellow who did something that no other 
freshman has ever done,” Dud announced in that 
quiet way of his. “And I think that we ought to 
show our appreciation by making him an officer of 
the class.” 

A score or more of the freshmen nodded in agree- 
ment; and one of them, whom Ned did not know, 
stood up instantly and seconded the nomination. 
And then Bill Weston, who had been seated in the 
back of the room taking little part in the general dis- 
cussions, jumped suddenly to his feet and asked for 
recognition from the chairman. 

“I agree with what Chambers has said,” he an- 
nounced in a voice which rang out clearly. “It 
seems to me that we ought to elect Beals unani- 
mously, and not nominate any one else.” 

For a moment the room was silent and then some 
fellow in the front row ventured an objection. 

“Beals is a commuter, isn’t he?” he asked. 

The junior chairman looked questioningly at Bill 
Weston; and Weston, his eyes gleaming angrily, 
jumped again to his feet. 

95 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


'‘Yes, he’s a commuter,” he answered defiantly. 
“But what difference does that make?” 

It seemed, however, that it made a lot of differ- 
ence, for almost instantly Ned was conscious of 
a change in the attitude of his fellow classmates. 
Before his place of residence had been mentioned, 
they had been obviously in favor of making Ned 
one of their officers. But the very mention of the 
fact that he was a commuter had altered the entire 
aspect of things; and after a brief moment of un- 
certainty, some one stood up and nominated a fellow 
named Ainslee as a candidate for vice president. 
There was not much talking after that; but when 
the ballots had been counted, and the results an- 
nounced, it was found that Ned had been defeated by 
a vote of I oo to 75. In spite of what he had done 
for the class, in spite of his unquestioned loyalty 
to State, the handicap of being a commuter had 
proved too much to overcome. Even his own class- 
mates had recognized the barrier. 

Ned was just a bit disappointed, but he told him- 
self rather bitterly that it was no more than he had 
expected. After a secretary and treasurer had been 
elected, the edge of his own disappointment had 
worn off somewhat, and he was able to take a whole- 
hearted interest in the discussion which followed con- 
cerning the flag which he had captured. 

96 


THE CLASS MEETING 


Bill Weston, who was due at football practice, 
announced that he would not be able to remain for 
other business; but before he went, he turned to 
his classmates with flashing eyes. 

‘Tf I were Beals,” he announced steadily, ‘T’d 
keep the flag where you fellows wouldn’t even get a 
look at it.” 

There was a rather awkward moment after he had 
gone, but Ned relieved the situation by grinning into 
Lee Dickinson’s troubled eyes and announcing that 
he would be glad to turn the flag over for whatever 
use the members of the class wanted to make of it. 
There was a good deal of discussion after that, and 
finally it was decided that a special committee should 
visit Ned’s home in Redway that night and take pos- 
session of the flag. 

‘‘And then we’ll cut it up into about two hundred 
small pieces,” Dickinson explained, “and each mem- 
ber of the freshman class can wear a small piece in 
his buttonhole.” 

“But won’t the sophs make us take them out?” 
some one asked. 

The president of the junior class, however, shook 
his head. 

“They won’t do anything about it,” he answered. 
“You fellows won the rush and you’re entitled to do 
whatever you want to with the flag.” 

97 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


*'We didn’t win the rush,” Red Simmons put m. 
“It was Ned Beals.” 

Hardly any one heard him, however, and after 
another ten minutes or more of rather fruitless dis- 
cussion about the class banquet, the meeting was ad- 
journed. Ned was glad to get away, for in spite of 
the fact that he had laughed away Bill Weston’s 
suggestion, he was just a little “sore” over his defeat. 
It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t live, on the campus. 

On the way back to the gymnasium in company 
with Dud and Slim Weber, he met Jim Peebles, 
president of the sophomore class. Involuntarily, 
they stopped and regarded each other with question- 
ing eyes. Then Peebles frowned. 

“I told you that you would try to get away with 
something yesterday,” he said severely. “And by 
George, I was right.” 

Ned, regarding him doubtfully for a moment, did 
not answer; but Slim Weber looked fairly into his 
glowing eyes. 

“The only thing that Ned got away with was the 
flag,” he said quietly. “And even you cannot blame 
him for that.” 

Suddenly, Peebles grinned. 

“You’re right I can’t,” he said pleasantly. Then 
he held out his hand. “You’re all right, Beals,” he 
added. “How about shaking on it?” 

98 


THE CLASS MEETING 


After he had passed on, Ned turned to the smiling 
Slim Weber. 

‘'Do you know, Slim,’' he said, “fellows living 
down here at college are all right as soon as you 
get to know them.” 

The other boy nodded. 

“Yes,” he answered. “They’re all right.” 

Ned resolved that he would get to know them 
better, if it was the last thing he ever did. 


CHAPTER Vlir 


THE THEFT 

T he first football game, with Universal Col- 
lege, was played at the athletic field on the 
following Saturday afternoon. Ned and 
Dud had only one class in the morning, but they de- 
cided to wait over unijil three o’clock, which was the 
time of the game. After they had finished their 
single class in English, they walked over toward the 
gymnasium together; but just before they entered 
the building, Johnson of the Kappa Kaps, who hap- 
pened to be coming out, stopped them and regarded 
Ned questioningly. 

“Hello, Beals,” he said. “Are you going to stick 
around for the game ?” 

Ned nodded. 

“We both are,” he answered instantly. “We 
wouldn’t miss it for worlds.” 

“We’d be glad to have you come up to the house 
for lunch,” Johnson suggested, laying great emphasis 
upon the “you.” “That was quite a stunt you got 
away with during the Flag Rush.” 


lOO 


THE THEFT 


Obviously, he was trying to be pleasant, but there 
was something about the way in which he omit- 
ted Dud from the invitation which caused Ned’s eyes 
to gleam angrily. 

‘T would like to come over very much,” he an- 
swered quietly. “But I’ve already made arrange- 
ments to have lunch with Chambers downtown.” 

Johnson regarded him curiously. 

“Very well,” he said finally, and with a touch of 
hauteur. “You can suit yourself about that.” 

Whistling cheerfully, he strolled down the steps 
and across the campus in the direction of the Kappa 
house. Ned looked after him sullenly. 

“He almost makes me sick,” he said to Dud. 
“I’m rather glad we didn’t get a bid to Kappa Kap, 
after all.” 

Dud nodded, but there was a hurt look in his eyes. 

“You oughtn’t to refuse invitations just on my ac- 
count,” he argued. “It’s up to you to watch out for 
yourself, you know.” 

Bht Ned only chuckled. 

“Don’t you worry about that,” he said. 

They walked downtown together, and had lunch 
in one of the restaurants in College ville, after which 
they wandered over to Bill Weston’s room and sat 
around with the star football player waiting for the 
hour of the game to arrive. Ned had expected that 
lOI 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


Weston would be nervous and irritable, but the big 
fullback did not appear to be in the least disturbed 
over the approaching contest, and refused even to 
talk about it. But he did not hesitate to express his 
opinion of his fellow classmates for the way they 
had treated Ned at the class meeting on Wednesday. 

“They ought to be ashamed of themselves,” he de- 
clared bitterly. “And* if I were you Fd tell them all 
to go hang, and keep the flag for myself.” 

But Ned shook his head. 

“I couldn’t do that,” he answered, “because 
they’ve already been to my house and taken the flag. 
You know what we’re going to do with it, don’t 
you ?” 

“No, what is it?” 

“We’re each going to wear a small piece in our 
buttonholes to the football game this afternoon,” 
Ned explained. “Dud and I have ours already.” 

He drew a small piece of red cloth from his 
pocket, but Weston only regarded it indifferently. 

“I wouldn’t wear the thing if they paid me for it,” 
he announced. 

The other freshmen evidently thought otherwise, 
however, for when they gathered at the dormitory 
in preparation for the “pee-rade” to the field, every 
single member of the first year class displayed the 
red bunting on the lapel of his coat. The sopho- 
102 


THE THEFT 


mores regarded the strange decoration curiously, 
and with obvious distaste; but already the upper 
classmen had ruled that they should take no steps to 
recover the flag, either wholly or in part, and all that 
they could do was to glower angrily at the grinning 
freshmen and try to make the best of a bad situation. 

At two-thirty, a twenty-piece band which the 
students had hired for the occasion came marching 
across the campus; and under the direction of the 
college cheer leaders, the four classes filed into line 
and marched in a body to the athletic field. Dud and 
Ned walked side by side, near the end of the column. 
It was the first college parade in which they had ever 
participated, and there was something thrilling about 
it which made a deep impression upon both of them. 
It strengthened their desire to gain a place among 
the recognized leaders of the student body, to be 
State men in every sense of the word. 

They found places in the seats which had been 
reserved for the students almost at the center of the 
field; and when the State varsity came out of the 
corner gate, they leaped to their feet and sent the 
“long locomotive’* booming across the gridiron. 
Ned knew, somehow, that although he might see 
hundreds of football games afterwards, he would 
never forget that first game and. the initial cheer 
which he gave for his college team. 

103 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


The contest itself proved to be a walkover for 
State. On the very first kick-off|, Bill Weston re- 
ceived the ball almost under his own goal post, and 
aided by excellent interference, dashed straight 
down the field for a touchdown. Three or four 
times it seemed as if the opposing tacklers had 
caught him, but on each occasion he twisted and 
turned so that the gfaspdng fingers slipped away 
from him and he was clear again. It was a wonder- 
ful exhibition of open field running, and the State 
rooters almost went into hysterics with the sheer 
joy of it. 

Five times during the first half, the State varsity 
swept over their opponent’s line; and when finally 
the intermission was called, the score stood 33 to o, 
in favor of the home team. 

Between the halves, Ned and Dud followed their 
classmates out to the field, where the entire student 
body formed a massive S in the center of the grid- 
iron and sang the Alma Mater song under the di- 
rection of the college song leader. And then, be- 
cause it was the first game and State was so far a- 
head, the long line filed under the goal posts and 
each and every boy in it tossed his hat over the 
crossbar in celebration of the victory which was 
already practically assured. 

In the second half, Coach Bailey gave the substi- 
104 


THE THEFT 


tutes a chance; and before the fourth quarter was 
well under way, Fat Ellsworth threw the blanket 
from his shoulders and took his place as left tackle 
on the varsity. Ned, recognizing him at once, 
turned smilingly to Dud. For the moment, he 
had forgotten that Fat was no longer the chum and 
friend he had once been. 

"‘He’s going in,” Ned declared excitedly. “And 
that means that he’ll have a chance for his varsity 
letter later in the season.” 

Dud nodded quietly. 

“Fat’s a good player,” he answered. “He ought 
to make the team, but he wants to look out. He’s 
cutting classes, I think, and if he keeps that up he’ll 
be dropped from the team when the first marks are 
announced.” 

It occurred to Ned that Fat had changed a good 
deal since college began. Neither he nor Dud saw 
much of their former schoolmate, and at no time 
did either of them have a chance to talk with 
him. College was certainly making another man of 
Fat. 

They saw less and less of him during the next 
week or so. Fat’s time seemed to be entirely taken 
up by the football team and the fraternity, and al- 
though he was pleasant enough to both Ned and 
Dud when he happened to come across them, he did 

105 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


not go out of his way to find them, nor did he invite 
them to the Kappa Kappa house. Evidently he 
was living at the fraternity, although occasionally 
they met him on the streets of Red way late in the 
evening, and two or three times he took the early 
train for college. 

*‘He seems to be both commuting and living 
there,” Dud remarked. ‘‘I wonder if he really has 
a room at college or if he’^ just bunking with other 
fellows.” 

‘‘I don’t know; but whatever he’s doing, he’s in 
things a good deal more than we are. You ought 
to go out for football. Dud.” 

“Not this year. I couldn’t commute and try for 
the team too.” 

Ned glanced up suspiciously. 

“You’re not commuting just because I am, are you. 
Dud?” he demanded. 

The other boy smiled noncommittally. 

“The family would rather have me stay at home,” 
he evaded. “And anyhow, there are three more 
years to stay down here if we want to.” 

“I suppose so.” Ned hesitated for a moment. 
“Did I tell you that I’m going out for the Glee Club 
trials to-night?” he asked. 

“No, you didn’t say anything about it, but it’s a 
good thing. And you can make it, sure as fate.” 
io6 


THE THEFT 


‘T don’t know, Dud, there are some pretty good 
singers in college, you know.” 

But Dud only smiled confidently; and two days 
later, when the names of men who had “made” the 
musical clubs were posted on the bulletin board, 
Ned’s was among them. The members of the Com- 
muters’ Club were frankly overjoyed. 

“We’ll show them that at least one of us is some 
good,” Red Simmons declared. “You’ll have to 
dress up in your glad rags, Ned, and take trips to 
country clubs and places like that, and be a regular 
parlor lizard.” 

“What do you mean by glad rags?” Ned de- 
manded. 

“Evening clothes, of course.” Red seemed to 
know a good deal about college customs. “The Glee 
Club sings only at night, and everybody dresses up 
to kill.” 

Ned’s eyes opened in amazement. 

“Will a Tuxedo do?” he asked doubtfully. 

“No, sir! You have to have swallow tails and a 
white vest, and everything!” 

“Humph!” 

Ned relapsed into thoughtful silence. He had 
tried for the Glee Club because it was the one thing 
that he could do that would give him a chance to take 
part in some college activity ; but he had never owned 
107 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


a dress suit and he knew that he could not afford to 
buy one without making big inroads into his scanty 
savings. He decided, after a time, that he would 
have to resign from the Club. But at the prospect 
of it, his eyes grew troubled. It was hard lines. 

He had just begun to feel that he was going to get 
something out of college, in spite of the fact that he 
was a commuter. His friendship with Bill Weston, 
the star football player, was already recognized by 
the student body. Upper classmen regarded him 
with new interest, and the freshmen were frankly 
envious of his close association with the biggest man 
in their class. Johnson, of Kappa Kappa, had onc« 
or twice gone out of his way to be nice to him and 
had invited him to lunch at the fraternity house. 
But Ned did not go, for he had no desire to shine by 
reflected light. 

The Commuters’ Club, too, had solved a big prob- 
lem. The more Ned saw of Slim Weber and Hal 
Bowman, the better he liked them. Between those 
two boys there had sprung up a rather unusual 
friendship ; they were taking the same college course, 
and it was seldom that one was seen without the 
other. Red Simmons, with his irrepressible good 
humor and his twinkling blue eyes, was really the 
life of the club, and he, too, seemed to ht m well with 
io8 


THE THEFT 


the others. And then there was Dtid Chambers, 
who would always be E’ed’s closest friend. The 
commuters were all right — real men through and 
through. 

But Ned realized that he would not be entirely 
satisfied until he took his full part in the life of the 
college. The Glee Club seemed to offer the first 
stepping stone ; and now, after he had won a place in 
it, he would be forced to resign because he did not 
own a dress suit. It surely was hard luck. 

He took little part in the conversation that noon, 
and when Dud and Red Simmons went off to class at 
one o^clock, he resolved to find the musical director 
and tell him that he did not want to be in the Glee 
Club, after all. Hal Bowman had gone to another 
part of the gymnasium to take out some ashes, but 
Slim Weber remained in the locker room. Ned was 
conscious that Slim was regarding him curiously. 

“What’s the trouble, Ned?” the other boy asked 
hesitatingly. “Don’t you own a dress suit?” 

“No.” Ned wondered how Slim had suspected 
it. “And I can’t afford to buy one,” he continued 
defiantly. “So I’m going to resign fron the Glee 
Club.” 

“That’s hard luck.” Slim seemed to be debating 
something ; and after an appreciable pause, he spoke 
109 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


again. “When I was about your size, my dad 
bought, me a dress suit/^ he announced. “But I 
grew out of it so quick that I hardly wore it at all. 
It's home now, and I’m wondering if it wouldn’t fit 
you.” 

But Ned shook his head. 

“Even if it did,” he answered, “it wouldn’t be 
mine.” 

“But I’d be glad to let you have it for awhile.” 

Ned’s eyes opened. It was just the kind of offer 
he would have expected of Slim, but he had been 
taught to do without rather than borrow things and 
he knew that his mother would never consent to such 
a loan.” 

“Thanks, Slim,” he answered. “But I couldn’t 
do that.” 

“It’s just hanging there in my room, and you 
might as well use it as not.” 

Slim seemed to be perfectly sincere about it. 
Still 

“I might buy it,” Ned suggested hopefully. 

“You can if you want to.” Again the other boy 
hesitated. “How would ten dollars do?” he asked 
finally. 

Ned’s eyes opened wider. 

“Ten dollars for a dress suit?” he demanded. 


no 


THE THEFT 


“Yes, it isn’t doing any good where it is, and if it 
stays in the closet much longer, it might get eaten up 
by moths. I’d be glad to let you have it for that, 
Ned.” 

It seemed almost too good to be true. Ned felt 
that it would be well worth ten dollars to be a mem- 
ber of the Glee Club. He turned to the other boy 
gratefully. 

“It’s mighty good of you. Slim,” he said. “And 
if you really mean it ” 

“Of course I mean it. I’ll bring it down to-mor- 
row.” 

“That’ll be fine. I hope it fits me.” 

It fitted him, as Slim declared the next morning, 
like the paper on the wall. Ned was so happy over 
his new acquisition that he could hardly wait to get 
home so that he could tog himself out in full regalia. 
He told himself that he was the luckiest fellow alive, 
and that college was just one big surprise after an- 
other. When he came to think about it, it occurred 
to him as rather strange that Slim Weber, who com- 
muted to the university and who carried his lunch, 
should have an extra dress suit which he had almost 
given away. But then. Slim was a strange chap, 
even though he was one of the best fellows in the 
world. 


Ill 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


The next afternoon, Ned reported for the first 
Glee Club practice of the year, and the director gave 
him a tentative place on the double quartet. 

“Some warbler !’^ was the way Red , Simmons 
greeted him when he wandered down to the gymna- 
sium the next noon. “It isn’t any cinch for a fresh- 
man to make a quartet.” 

Ned smiled happily, but did not answer. A short 
time later, Hal Bowman came in, and at the sight 
of him the others glanced up in frank surprise. For 
Hal wore a corduroy suit which was obviously new, 
and his feet were encased in a shining pair of 
leather boots which reached almost to his knees. 
The irrepressible Red Simmons bowed in mock def- 
erence. 

“Behold the young millionaire!” he announced 
eloquently. “Hal has found a gold mine.” 

The other boy smiled embarrassedly. 

“My ship came in yesterday,” he answered shortly. 

It was less than ten minutes afterward that Dud 
brought in the news of the stolen money. A student 
by the name of Sloane had left sixty dollars in his 
gymnasium locker the preceding afternoon. Some 
one had broken into the locker and taken the money. 
The news had spread around the college, and the 
students were up in arms. For the first time as long 

II2 


THE THEFT 


as they could remember, there was a thief in their 
midst. 

Involuntarily, iced’s glance took in the new cloth- 
ing of Hal Bowman. And as he looked, a slow! 
wave of crimson spread over Hal’s rugged face. 


CHAPTER IX 


AT FIELDING 

T he next morning, Ned and his friends of 
the Commuters’ Club found that the impas- 
sive indifference of the student body had 
changed almost to open antagonism. The theft of 
money from the locker room was a bad thing for the 
college, and the undergraduates resented the presence 
among them of a man so low as to steal from a fel- 
low student. There seemed no way of discovering 
the thief, but suspicion was rife on the campus, and 
naturally, it centered on the group of boys who made 
the locker room their headquarters; for the robbery 
had been perpetrated in the g3rmnasium, and it was 
generally agreed that a member of the freshman class 
had committed it. 

But who? Ned and Dud, discussing the prob- 
lem on their way home that afternoon, shook their 
heads hopelessly. There seemed no answer to the 
question. 

In spite of himself, Ned’s thoughts returned to 
114 


AT FIELDING 


the scene in the gym the preceding noon, when 
Hal Bowman had flushed crimson at the announce- 
ment of the news. It seemed rather strange that 
Hal should appear in an entirely new outfit on the 
very day after the money had been stolen. He 
had appeared embarrassed at their notice of his at- 
tire, had mumbled something about '‘his ship coming 
in.” Could it be that Hal was the thief ? 

Ned debated whether or not to mention his sus- 
picion to Dud, and decided finally not to say any- 
thing about it. A fellow with eyes as honest as 
Hal’s could not be anything but straight, and 
still 

“I wonder — ” he thought. 

He was acutely conscious of the change in the 
attitude of his fellow students. Johnson, of the 
Kappa Kaps, barely nodded to him when they passed 
on the campus; and once, when Ned walked up to 
a group of freshmen who were talking in front of 
the dormitory, he noticed that they started almost 
guiltily and changed the subject as soon as he 
reached them. 

But he held his head high and tried his best to act 
as if nothing had happened. He was unhappy, 
though, and he wondered vaguely if his relations 
with Bill Weston would undergo any change. In 
Latin class, however. Bill was the same as ever ; he 

115 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


made no mention of the theft, and when classes 
were dismissed, he insisted that Ned go over to his 
room with him. 

‘‘Fve been ordered to lay off from football for 
to-day,*’ he explained. “Bailey is afraid that Fll go 
stale, and he wants me to forget the game as much 
as I can. He’s worried about my Latin.” 

Ned nodded. There was real cause for worry on 
the part of the football mentor, for Weston was 
notoriously weak in that subject and there was a 
strong possibility of his being reported deficient 
before the season was ended. In that case, he would 
be required to pass a special examination in order 
to play football; and unless he improved mightily, 
his chances of passing it were slim. 

It would be a real tragedy to the football team if 
Weston should be declared ineligible, for the fresh- 
man star had already proved his worth and was the 
bulwark of the State offense. In the first two 
games of the season, he had shown himself a star of 
the first magnitude, had been, in fact, largely re- 
sponsible for the victories. Without him, the var- 
sity would be lost. 

It was no wonder, therefore, that the coach was 
worried; and as the days wore on and Weston did 
not make any noticeable improvement, Ned forgot 
his own troubles somewhat in his greater worry 
Ii6 


AT FIELDING 


for the football star. He wondered why Bill did 
not secure a special tutor, but when he suggested it, 
Weston only smiled grimly and shook his head. 

‘T’d rather stand on my own feet,” he said shortly. 
*Tf I can’t get through Latin on my own hook, I 
deserve to flunk. And anyhow, I don’t want a 
tutor hanging around me all the time; he’d make me 
nervous.” 

Ned did not pursue the subject further. In spite 
of his friendship with Weston, he still stood in just 
a bit of awe of the other boy. The football player 
had queer ideas about some things, and occasionally 
Ned was conscious of a blanket of reserve which he 
drew about him and which even his closest friends 
could not penetrate. He was popular with the 
student body, of course; was, indeed, almost a col- 
lege idol ; but in spite of this fact he kept to himself 
the greater part of the time and appeared utterly 
indifferent to his popularity. 

He had not as yet joined a fraternity, had not 
even pledged himself; and Ned, in a moment of 
curiosity, asked him about it. 

Weston smiled grimly. 

*T haven’t joined a fraternity,” he answered 
frankly, ''because the only one I’d care to join hasn’t 
asked me.” 

''But a lot of them have, haven’t they?” 

117 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


‘‘Almost all” The football player hesitated for 
a moment. “Fve been around to all of the houses/' 
he said finally. “Some of the crowds have been 
pretty decent, but others have been so dog-gone nice 
to me that they make me sick. There was only one 
bunch that really appealed to me, and that was the 
Alpha Betas. But they haven’t asked me to join 
yet, and if they don’t, well — Til stay just where I 
am. 

“How about the Kappa Kappas?” Ned asked. 

Weston snorted openly. 

“A bunch of parlor lizards,” he answered shortly. 
“All they think about is a man’s clothes, and whether 
he has the right kind of a hair cut or not. And 
they’ve got one freshman there who’s the biggest 
boob in the class.” 

“Who’s that?” 

“A fellow named Sneddon. I wouldn’t trust him 
from here to the front door.” 

Ned’s eyes opened wide. He had imagined Sned- 
don to be rather popular at college, and Weston’s 
blunt statement came as something of a surprise. 
Ned was tempted to tell Weston about the entrance 
examination in English, but he decided after a mo- 
ment to keep still about it. Weston seemed to have 
“Sneddon” sized up already. 

ii8 


AT FIELDING 


‘"How about Ellsworth?'’ he asked curiously. 
“He's pledged Kappa Kappa, you know." 

The other boy grunted noncommittally. 

“He talks a little too much, but he's a good foot- 
ball player," he declared. “Bailey's going to start 
him against Wellington on Saturday." 

Ned had already suspected as much. Whatever 
else he was doing at college. Fat was evidently 
making good at football. In the practice scrimmages 
he had attended, Ned had noticed that the coach gave 
a lot of attention to Fat, and Weston's announce- 
ment gave conclusive proof that his former school- 
mate was progressing rapidly toward his varsity 
“S." 

But Ned was frankly worried about Fat. He 
seemed a good deal like his old self on the football 
field; but once off the gridiron, he was a changed 
man. He spent the greater part of his time with 
Merle Sneddon, and Ned had not had a chance to 
talk to him alone since college began. Fat seemed 
troubled about something; there was a furtive light 
in his eyes, and he was obviously avoiding his two 
former schoolmates. 

Once, when he had been sent downtown on an 
errand by an upper classman, Ned had come across 
Fat in ar; obscure lunch room eating a sandwich and 
119 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


a slab of pie. It was at a time when he should have 
been lunching at the fraternity house, and Ned was 
frankly surprised at seeing him. 

Fat had tried to pass it off lightly. 

“I’m tired of the Kappa house grub,” he had said. 
“So I sneaked off here to get •a bite by myself.” 

Pondering over the matter afterwards, Ned de- 
cided that Fat was running short of funds. A few 
days later, when he came across Sneddon on the 
campus, he noticed that the other boy had discarded 
the pledge button for a gleaming fraternity pin ; but 
that very afternoon he noted that Fat was still 
wearing his button. The Kappa Kappa initiation 
had been held, but Fat remained only a pledged mem- 
ber. Ned decided that he had guessed rightly; in 
some way or other. Fat had put off the Kappa men. 
But whatever excuse he had given, Ned knew that 
the real reason was financial. Fat did not have the 
money with which to pay the fraternity fees. 

When he mentioned the matter to Dud, his chum 
agreed with him. 

“But it’s his own fault,” he declared grimly. 
“Fat’s tr)ring to live under false colors, and he’s get- 
ting in wrong. He deserves it, too.” 

The attitude of their former schoolmate was in 
striking contrast to the way in which the members 
of the Commuters’ Club conducted themselves. Red 


120 


AT FIELDING 


Simmons and the others made no attempt whatever 
to be anything except what they really were. Red 
admitted frankly that he did not live at the college 
because he could not afford to, and Hal Bowman’s 
circumstances were known to all of them. Slim 
Weber explained that he commuted because his par- 
ents wanted to have him at home; but Ned sus- 
pected that Slim was at least comfortably fixed, for 
the dress suit he had sold Ned had originally cost a 
good deal of money. 

The theft of the money in the gymnasium had, if 
anything, served to bring the five boys more closely 
together. They all felt the hostility of the student 
body and were seldom comfortable except when by 
themselves. After a time, they discussed the matter 
freely, speculating on the identity of the thief, won- 
dering if there was any way in which they could ap- 
prehend him. Hal Bowman, however, took little 
part in these discussions; and once, when Red jocu- 
larly remarked that if he bought any more new* 
clothes, people would begin to suspect him, Hal’s 
face grew crimson again and he relapsed into a hurt 
silence. 

But the others did not push the matter further, 
and for the next few days the theft of the money 
from the locker room continued to be as much of 
a mystery as ever. The college was worried about 
I2I 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


it, nevertheless, and vague rumors came to the com- 
muters that a special committee had been appointed 
by the undergraduates to investigate the affair. But 
there seemed little likelihood of the thief being dis- 
covered. 

It was a rather hard week for Ned and his 
friends; and although they held their heads high 
and faced their fellow students defiantly, it was al- 
most impossible not to sense the antagonism against 
them. Ned gritted his teeth in impotent rage, but 
he was helpless to do anything. The prominence 
he had gained through the incident of the Flag Rush 
was lost sight of in the atmosphere of general sus- 
picion. Even his own classmates were indifferent 
to his friendly advances. It wasn’t fair. 

On Thursday evening, however, there was a di- 
version. The director of the Glee Club announced 
that the double quartet had been invited to take 
part in a Y. M. C. A. rally at Fielding and that the 
eight men would go to the neighboring town on 
Saturday night to try out several new songs which 
they had been practicing. They would be required 
to wear evening dress, and Ned would be given his 
first opportunity to appear in public in the clothes 
he had purchased from Slim Weber. 

He did not make the trip with the others from 
Collegeville, but dressed at home and took the train 


122 


AT FIELDING 


from Red way to Fielding. At the station, however, 
he met his fellow students by appointment, and they 
all bustled into some taxicabs which were waiting 
and rode in state to the Y. M. C. A. building. The 
driver of the cab in which Ned found himself was a 
bearded man who refused to respond to the cordial 
comments of his four passengers, and when finally 
they reached their destination, Ned was glad to get 
rid of him. 

'‘Some grouch!” he announced to Cliff Ritchie, 
another member of the quartet and whose home was 
in Fielding. "Is that the best specimen you can 
show us here?” 

The other boy grunted disgustedly. 

"Know who he is?” he asked. 

"No, never saw him before.” 

"His name’s Sneddon, and he has a son down at 
State.” 

"What ?” Ned’s eyes opened in stunned surprise. 
"You don’t mean Merle Sneddon?” 

Ritchie nodded. 

"That’s the fellow.” he answered. 

"But — but — ” Ned found it hard fo believe that 
the grizzled shabby man was the father of the well- 
dressed freshman at the college. "I thought Sned- 
don had money,” he blurted out. 

But Ritchie only smiled indifferently. 

123 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


“If he has,’' he declared, “nobody knows where 
it comes from.” 

Ned’s eyes were thoughtful all through the enter- 
tainment, and although he sang the best he knew 
how, his heart was not in his work. It seemed 
almost impossible to reconcile what he had known 
of Sneddon with the information he had just re- 
ceived. But there was no reason to doubt Ritchie’s 
words. Ned decided, finally, that Merle Sneddon 
was a “four-flusher,” that he was living under false 
colors. And Fat Ellsworth had accepted him as 
his best friend. 

After the concert, Ned discovered Slim Weber in 
the back of the auditorium. Slim explained that he 
had motored over to Fielding to hear the quartet 
sing. 

“How about coming home with me for to-night, 
Ned?” he asked. “I can drive you back to Redway 
to-morrow morning.” 

But Ned was forced to refuse the invitation. 

“I told my mother I’d be home,” he answered. 
“And I don’t want to disappoint her. Maybe some 
other time. Slim.” 

Weber, however, insisted that Ned drive over to 
Brookfield with him and meet his family. 

“We can make it in fifteen minutes,” he urged. 

124 


AT FIELDING 


‘‘And ril take you back home afterwards, so that 
you can reach Redway before midnight/’ 

Ned was surprised when Slim led him to a large 
limousine which was parked outside of the building. 

“Some car!” he said amazedly. “Is it yours, 
Slim?” 

The other boy nodded indifferently. 

“Yes,” he answered. “Hop in!” 

Slim drove as if he had always been accustomed 
to handling automobiles, and Ned’s amazement in- 
creased. But he was still more amazed when the 
car turned into a tree-bordered driveway and stopped 
finally before the spacious porch of one of the 
most pretentious houses he had ever seen. 

“Here we are,” Slim announced. “Let’s go in.” 

Ned followed his friend into the library, where he 
was introduced to Mr. Weber, who greeted him 
cordially. After a time, Slim’s mother came in, and 
for almost an hour the four of them sat before the 
smoldering grate fire and talked of college, and the 
members of the Commuters’ Club, and a hundred 
and one other things. When finally, Ned bid them 
good night, he knew that he had been in the presence 
of gentlefolk. The Webers were rich, able to have 
anything that they desired. And yet. Slim him- 
self commuted to college and ate his lunches in the 

125 


NED BBALS, FRESHMAN 


locker room of the gymnasitim. Ned could not 
understand it. 

After he reached home, he told his mother about 
it. The evening had been filled with surprises. 
Slim Weber was wealthy, and was commuting to 
State; Merle Sneddon was the son of a taxicab 
driver, and was giving the impression of unlimited 
funds. 

Ned’s initial distrust of Sneddon grew in strength. 
Somewhere, something was wrong. 


CHAPTER X 


SUSPECTED 

O N Monday afternoon, after Latin class, 
Bill Weston asked Ned if he would mind 
stopping over at the dormitory for a few 
minutes. Once in Bill’s room, the football player 
turned to Ned with troubled eyes. 

“Do you know what’s being said around the cam- 
pus?” he asked. 

“No, I haven’t heard anything.” 

“Some boobs have been saying that probably Hal 
Bowman swiped the money from the locker room.” 

Ned’s eyes opened wide. In spite ot himself, his 
own suspicion of Hal flashed before him again. 

“But why Bowman?” he asked. “What makes 
them pick on him ?” 

“Oh, they’ve learned that he has a pass key to all 
the lockers, and that he’s in the gymnasium for three 
or four hours every afternoon.” 

“But — but that doesn’t prove anything.” 

“I know it doesn’t, but they’re bound to lay the 
127 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


blame on some one, and Bowman seems their only 
chance. And they've found out, too, that he was 
in the gym when the money was stolen." 

For a moment Ned was silent. 

don’t think Hal took it. Bill," he said finally. 

haven’t known him very long, of course, but he 
seems honest enough, and ’’ 

*‘No need to defend him to me,’’ Weston broke in. 
‘‘I haven’t anything against him. He looks like a 
regular fellow, and if he’s working his way through 
college, that’s all the more to his credit. But I 
thought perhaps that you’d like to know what’s being 
said." 

“I’m glad to know it. Things haven’t been any 
too easy the last week." 

Weston glanced up keenly. 

“They haven’t been saying anything to you, have 
they ?" he demanded. 

“No, not saying anything. But there’s a differ- 
ence, somehow." 

“They ought to be ashamed of themselves." 
The football player spoke grimly. “You’ve been 
getting a dirty deal all along." 

“Oh, it will come out all right." Ned smiled 
wistfully. “And, of course," he added, “I’m only 
a commuter." 


128 


SUSPECTED 


‘‘That shouldn’t make any difference at all.” 

“But it does. You know what happened in class 
meeting.” 

“Yes, I know.” Again Weston’s eyes flashed. 
“But you would have been beaten, anyhow,” he re- 
marked. “So I wouldn’t let that bother me.” 

“Why would I have been beaten anyhow?” 

Weston snorted. 

“The whole election was cut and dried before- 
hand,” he explained. “The Kappa Kaps and some 
of the other fraternities engineered a deal, and 
elected the men they had decided on. By hanging 
together, they got enough votes to swing the 
election.” 

“Is that why you wouldn’t run ?” 

“Yes, I might possibly have beaten them an)rway, 
but I don’t want to be mixed up in fraternity politics. 
But sometime or other,” he added grimly, “that kind 
of thing is going to stop.” 

They were silent for a moment, and then Weston 
rose to his feet. 

“I’ve got to get up to practice,” he said. Sud- 
denly, he walked across the room and laid his hand 
carelessly on Ned’s shoulder. “If ever I can do 
anything, let me know,” he remarked gruffly. 

Ned hesitated about telling the other members of 
129 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


the Commuters’ Club what Bill Weston had said. 
Still, it didn’t seem fair to allow suspicion to rest 
upon Hal Bowman without giving Hal a chance to 
prove his innocence. Ned, however, was not alto- 
gether sure that Hal would want to hear anything 
about it. Hal seemed honest enough, but there was 
no denying the fact that he had appeared in new 
and expensive clothes on the day following the theft. 
And he had not offered to make any explanation 
about it. 

Ned decided, finally, to keep still and await de- 
velopments. But on the very next day something 
happened which made action imperative. The 
Commuters were eating their lunches in the locker 
room when “Doc” Andrews, the director of the gym- 
nasium, came in and shut the door. He smiled 
reassuringly at them, but his eyes were troubled. 

“I want to have a word with you fellows,” he an- 
nounced, without preliminaries. “It has to do with 
the money which was stolen from the gymnasium 
last week.” 

The five boys looked up at him apprehensively. 

“None of us knows an)rthing about it,” Dud said 
quietly. 

“I don’t think you do, but I’ve got to look into 
things.” The man was plainly ill at ease, but he 
went on grimly. “This morning,” he explained 
130 


SUSPECTED 


evenly, ‘‘a committee of undergraduates came to me 
and announced that they objected to you fellows 
spending so much time here in the gym.” 

“But what business is it of theirs ?” Red Simmons 
demanded angrily. “We’re not doing anything to 
them, and ” 

“Easy there!” The director held up his hand. 
“They didn’t make any direct charges, but they gave 
me to believe that they suspect one of you in con- 
nection with the robbery.” 

“Let them suspect us then.” Again it was Red 
who took up the defense. “We’re just as honest as 
they are, but just because we’re commuters they’re 
trying to put the blame on us.” 

“Maybe that has something to do with it. Still, 
they’ve voiced their objections, and I’m duty bound 
to respect them.” 

“Which one of us do they think stole the money?” 
Slim Weber asked bluntly. 

For a moment the older man hesitated. Then he 
turned to Hal Bowman. 

“They think you did it, Hal,” he said. 

The eyes of the other four boys turned question- 
ingly toward Hal Bowman. The charge was so 
direct that there was no chance to ignore it ; but for 
a full minute, Hal did not answer, simply gazed 
around the room uncertainly. Then : 

131 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


didn’t do it,” he said simply. ‘1 don’t know 
anything about the money.” 

As he spoke, he looked fairly into the eyes of the 
director of the gymnasium, and there was something 
so staunchly honest in his answer that the older man 
accepted his word as truth. 

“I didn’t think yoii did it, Hal,” he answered 
quietly. Then he turned to the others. “How 
about you men?” he asked. 

“I don’t know a thing about it,” Red Simmons 
answered instantly. 

“Nor do I,” Dud said. 

Ned shook his head silently. 

“I wouldn’t steal,” Slim Weber declared with 
quiet' dignity. 

The older man breathed deeply in obvious relief. 

“I’ll take your word for it,” he announced. “You 
don’t look to me like men who would be dishonest.” 
He was silent for a moment. “The committee 
wanted me to stop you fellows from making your 
headquarters here in the locker room,” he continued, 
“and when you come right down to it, this is a gym- 
nasium and not a lunch room.” 

“But if we don’t eat here, where can we go?” Red 
Simmons asked. 

“Where do the other commuters spend their 
time?” 


132 


SUSPECTED 


‘‘All over; some of them in the turnace room of 
the dormitory, and others in the basement of the 
library/’ Red turned eager eyes towara tne di- 
rector. “If we can’t come here, we might just as 
well quit college,” he said. “It — it’s fine here. Doc- 
tor Andrews, and — and — ” His voice broke sud- 
denly. 

The director’s lips snapped shut. 

“I’m inclined to take your part against the com- 
mittee,” he told them. “And as far as I’m con- 
cerned you can stay here until further notice. But 
remember this,” he added. “If there are any more 
thefts, I’ll have to shut this locker room during noon 
and keep some one on the lookout every day after 
classes. It won’t be because I’ll suspect any of you,” 
he added kindly, “But just as a matter of safety.” 

“Thank you, sir!” It was Slim Weber who 
spoke. “That’s mighty fine of you.” 

But after the director had gone, the four boys re- 
garded one another with worried eyes. 

“He was square enough, all right,” Red Simmons 
announced. “But if any other money should be 
stolen, it means that our club would be busted up.” 

Slim Weber nodded. 

“We’ll just have to hope,” he answered, “that 
nothing happens.” 

Slim went out shortly afterwards to attend a on€ 

133 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


o’clock class, but the others remained behind to talk 
over the latest developments. Hal Bowman, how- 
ever, took little part in the discussion, and after a 
time he left the room to do some work in the base- 
ment of the building. Red Simmons looked after 
him with dubious eyes. But for a time no one 
spoke; Hal was one of them, and he had said that 
he was innocent. 

Finally, however. Red cleared his throat. 

— I think Hal’s just about as good a scout as 
ever lived,” he said. “But I wish he’d tell us where 
he got the money to buy those clothes.” 

“Why not ask him?” Dud put in unexpectedly. 

Simmons’ eyes opened wide. 

“We couldn’t do that,” he protested. “It wouldn’t 
be right. Dud.” 

“I’m not so sure of that,” Dud answered. “Hal 
must know that something’s wrong. And it’s better 
to straighten out the tangle right now than to have 
us half suspect Hal all the time.” 

“Who’ll ask him ?” Red wanted to know. 

Dud Chambers’ lips set grimly. 

“I’ll do it,” he answered. “And Hal will under- 
stand, I think.” 

The big freshman came back to the locker room 
a few minutes later. He was dressed in overalls 
and there were smudges of ashes on his face. 

134 


SUSPECTED 


‘‘Still here?” he asked carelessly. 

It was Dud who answered. 

“Hal,” he began directly, “do you mind if we ask 
you a question ?” 

The other boy glanced over at him doubtfully. 

“Go ahead,” he answered. 

It was not Dud’s way to beat about the bush. 

“People on the campus are saying that you stole 
the money, Hal,” he explained, “but none of us here 
believe a word of it. But there’s one thing that 
bothers us. On the very day after the theft, you 
came around with a brand new rig that must have 
cost a lot. And — ^and — well, how did you buy the 
stuff, Hal?” 

The face of Hal Bowman grew suddenly crimson, 
and for a moment his eyes rested uncertainly on the 
troubled face of Dud Chambers. 

“It isn’t because we suspect you, Hal,” Ned put 
in. “But it’s just because we want to know so that 
if any one says anything about it, we can tell them.” 

Hal was standing by the door, facing the three 
friends. 

“I — ” he began. Then he smiled embarrassedly. 
“It’s sort of a funny story,” he said slowly. “And 
it sounds fishy.” 

“What is it?” Red asked. 

“Maybe you won’t believe me, but it’s true just the 

135 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


same.” Hal spoke almost defiantly. ‘*Two days 
before the money was stolen from the gym, some 
one sent me a letter at my home address downtown. 
There wasn’t any signature, and only these words : 
'Some day I will let you know who I am and you 
can pay me back.’ And inside the envelope was a 
one hundred dollar bill.” 

"Oh!” 

It was Red Simmons who spoke. Red’s eyes 
were frankly dubious, and there was the suggestion 
of a grim smile on his lips. Hal turned to him al- 
most angrily. 

"You don’t need to believe me if you don’t want 
to,” he snapped. "But it’s true just the same.” 

"I’m glad you told us,” Dud put in quietly. 
"And I believe you, Hal.” 

"So do I,” Ned added instantly. 

The big, awkward freshman turned to them grate- 
fully. 

"It sounds about as fishy as anything I’ve ever 
heard,” he declared wistfully. "But it’s true; I 
swear on my honor that it is.” 

From across the campus, sounded the college bell, 
pealing out the hour for two o’clock classes. Ned 
rose to his feet. 

"I’ve got to get over to algebra,” he said. "See 
you to-morrow, Hal.” 


136 


SUSPECTED 


On the way across the campus, he passed several 
students who either nodded to him coolly or ignored 
him completely. But Ned hardly noticed them; he 
was thinking of Hal Bowman. The story certainly 
was “fishy.’' And, still, Hal had said on his honor 
that it was true. 

But a hundred-dollar bill in an unsigned letter! 
Ned shook his head helplessly. Things surely were 
in a tangle. 


CHAPTER XI 


A PLAN 

O N the train home that afternoon, Dud 
broached the subject of Hal Bowman’s 
story. 

'Tt sounds just like things you read about,” he 
said. “But I believe Hal just the same. He isn’t 
any more of a thief than we are.” 

“If he should spill tha,t yam to any one but us, 
though, they’d tell him he was talking through his 
hat,” Ned answered. 

“Yes.” Dud was quiet for a minute. “I wonder 
who could have sent him the money,” he pondered. 

Suddenly, Ned’s eyes opened wide. Could it be 
possible, he asked himself, that Slim Weber had done 
it? The Webers were rich, and Slim apparently had 
more money than he knew what to do with. And 
between him and Hal Bowman had sprung up a 
friendship which promised to last through their col- 
lege days. It would be just like him to do a thing 
like that. 


A PLAN 


“I wonder if Slim Weber sent Hal the money 
Ned asked. He had already told Dud of his visit to 
Fielding. 

‘‘Maybe he did.’’ Dud’s eyes were thoughtful. 
“From what you say, he must have plenty to give 
away, if he wants to.” 

“How about asking him about it ?” 

But Dud shook his head. 

“No,” he answered. “I’m going to take Hal’s 
word for it, and let it go at that.” 

Ned regarded his chum curiously for a moment, 
and then he nodded in sudden agreement. If they 
couldn’t believe Hal’s word of honor, they would be 
might/ poor friends. 

But the next noon, in the locker room, the matter 
was brought to a head by a chance remark of Red 
Simmons. Hal Bowman had left early on an er- 
rand downtown; and after he had gone. Red turned 
toward Slim Weber and smiled wryly. 

“You weren’t here yesterday when Hal told us his 
fishy story, were you. Slim?” he asked. 

“What story ?’^ Slim demanded. 

“About how some one sent him a hundred dollars 
in an envelope?” 

“What’s that ?” Slim’s keen eyes were regarding 
the other boy intently. 

“Let me tell you about it. Slim,” Ned put in. 

139 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


“After you went away yesterday, we asked Hal 
where he got the money for the new clothes he 
bought. And he said that some one sent it to him 
by mail, and didn't sign any name." 

Slim Weber flushed angrily. 

“What in the world did you ask him that for ?" he 
demanded. “You don’t mean to say that you 
thought he had anything to do with the money that 
was stolen, do you ?’’ 

“No," Ned answered. “But we knew that he 
bought some new duds right after the money disap- 
peared, and we wanted to have something to work on 
if any one mentioned it to us. So we asked Hal 
about it." 

“And he told us the wild yarn about a hundred- 
dollar bill," Red added. 

“And don’t you believe it?" Slim asked quietly. 

“We’ve already told him that we do," Dud an- 
swered. 

But Red Simmons grunted noncommittally. 

“/ didn’t tell him so," he announced defiantly. 
“And if you want to know my opinion, Fd say that 
it looks mighty fishy." 

Slim Weber’s eyes were like steel gimlets. 

“Do you mean to say that you think he’s a thief ?" 

“I don’t say anything. It looks fishy, that’s all." 

For a moment, the two boys glared at each other. 

140 


A PLAN 


For the first time since its organization, there was 
dissension in the Commuters’ Club. But Ned Beals’ 
sympathy was with Slim Weber; it occurred to him 
that Red wasn’t quite measuring, up to the standard 
of friendship which seemingly held the other mem- 
bers together. Still, Red was impulsive, and per- 
haps he didn’t mean what he was saying. 

‘'Hal didn’t do it, Red, and you know it.” Ned put 
in. “The rest of us believe him, and I don’t 


But Slim Weber interrupted. 

“Listen, Red,” he announced, “I want to tell you 
something. What Hal said is perfectly true. 
Some one did send him a hundred dollars by mail.” 

“How do you know ?” 

“I know because I did it myself.” 

“Tow did?” 

“Yes.” Slim’s anger died down as quickly as it 
had risen. “I happened to know that Hal hadn’t a 
decent suit of clothes to his name,” he explained. 
“I sent him the money, and when he told me about 
it I advised him to take it and buy himself an outfit. 
He couldn’t give it back because he didn’t know who 
sent it, and so he took my advice. That’s all there 
is to it.” 

“Gee!” Red Simmons, restored instantly to his 
usual good humor, gazed with wide-opened eyes at 

141 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


his fellow commuter. “WeVe got a millionaire 
among us,’’ he chuckled. 

Slim did not answer, and the room was suddenh' 
quiet. Finally Red spoke again. 

‘‘I’m sorry, Slim,” he said apologetically. “Hal’s 
all right — ^but I didn’t know, of course.” 

“All right. Red, let’s forget it.” Slim’s lean jaw 
shut grimly. “Remember,” he cautioned, “no word 
of this to Hal. I wouldn’t have him know for 
worlds.” 

The others nodded; but the impulsive Red Sim- 
mons continued to gaze at Slim with amazed uncer- 
tainty. 

“If you can afford to hand hundred-dollar bills 
around,” he asked, “why under the sun don’t you 
live down here at the college?” 

Slim smiled quietly, and Ned breathed a sigh of 
relief. The tension was passed. 

“I’m commuting from Brookfield,” the tall fresh- 
man explained, “not because I have to, but because I 
wanted to get the hang of things before coming 
down here to live. I thought that the fraternities 
would invite me around and I could take my pick, 
j[)ut as soon as they found that I was a commuter 
they treated me as if I had the smallpox. So I’m 
going to keep on commuting.” He smiled engag- 
ingly. “I’ve found some real friends in you fel- 
142 


A PLAN 


lows,” he finished. “And I want you to know that 
if any of you get hard up, you can count upon me. 
Now let’s forget it.” 

He went out shortly afterwards to find Hal, and 
Red Simmons grinned ruefully. 

“Slim’s rich,” he announced in an awed voice, 
“and we’ve been treating him like a bloomin’ day 
laborer.” 

“He’s a good scout,” Dud put in quietly. “And 
I’m glad he told us. It will make things easier for 
Hal.” 

“I only wish we could find out who the thief 
really is, though,” Ned declared. “I wonder if we 
could set a trap somehow.” 

They discussed the matter at lunch the next noon ; 
and after all kinds of suggestions, they finally hit 
upon a scheme. 

’’We’ll take a ten dollar bill and mark it,” Slim 
Weber announced. “Then we’ll put it in a pocket 
of my coat and hang the coat outside in the main 
locker room. If the money’s gone ” 

But Dud shook his head dubiously. 

“Even if it iy stolen, how are we going to trace 
it?” he asked. “There are all kinds of ways to get 
rid of money in a town like this.” 

“It’s the only thing we can do, though,” Slim de- 
clared stubbornly. “And I’m willing to risk ten 

143 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


dollars on it. I don’t like this being looked at like 
a thief every time I pass a fellow on the campus.” 

The others succumbed to Slim’s arguments finally, 
but they did not have much hope of the success of the 
scheme. However, as Slim said, it was his money, 
and he seemed to have faith in the pfen. So that 
afternoon, they cut a small notch in one corner of 
a ten dollar bill, placed it in the pocket of an old 
coat, and hung the coat in the locker room. Then 
they awaited developments. 

Cheering practice was scheduled to be held at the 
athletic field at four o’clock, and as soon as classes 
were finished, Ned and Dud reported at the dormi- 
tory steps for freshman roll call. 

They paraded with the other freshmen to the field, 
and for a long two hours sat on the stands and 
cheered the varsity to an easy victory over the scrubs. 
Fat Ellsworth had evidently been given an afternoon 
off, for he was not among the other players. But 
Bill Weston was there, dominating the play of the 
varsity, and plunging througji the center of the op- 
posing line for long gains. At the sight of him, 
Ned thrilled pride fully. Weston was the biggest 
man in the freshman class. It occurred to Ned that 
if it had not been for him, Weston might not have 
been on the field that afternoon. In a way, it was 
2iS \i he were fullback for the varsity. 

144 


A PLAN 


After practice, he decided to go back to the gym- 
nasium for his books. There was a Glee Club re- 
hearsal that night which would make it necessary 
for him to stay over until nine o’clock, and he 
planned to go into the library for an hour’s study 
before reporting for rehearsal. 

In the main locker room of the gymnasium, he 
came across Fat Ellsworth. There was no one 
else in the room, and at the sight of him Fat 
started almost guiltily. But he recovered himself 
instantly. 

“Hello, Ned,” he said. “Been up to practice?” 

“Yes.” 

“The coach told me to take a rest, but I had to 
come down here to get something,” Fat continued. 
“How are things going?” 

“All right.” 

Fat hesitated for a moment. 

“I’m going home to-night,” he said uncertainly. 
“Got to get a train. So-long!” 

“So-long, Fat!” 

Struck by a sudden impulse, Ned went over to 
the hook where Slim Weber’s coat was hanging, 
and searched the pocket in which they had placed 
the ten dollar bill. After a moment, his eyes 
opened in stunned amazement. 

The money was gone. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE SOPHOMORE PICTURE 

GROUP of carefree freshmen stood talk- 



ing on the steps of one of the college 


buildings, Ned Beals among them. Hal 
Bowman, making his way to a classroom in the 
same building, passed them quietly, but did not 
look up. Merle Sneddon, who was standing in the 
center of the group, regarded Hal speculatively. 

‘That fellow works in the gymnasium, doesn't 
he?" he asked suddenly. 

One of the others nodded. 

“Yes, why?" 

“Nothing." Sneddon spoke indifferently. “Only 
it was in the gym that that money was stolen a 
couple of weeks ago." 

He did not make any direct accusations, but his 
meaning was apparent to all within hearing dis- 
tance. Ned felt a sudden rush of anger sweep 
over him. 


146 


THE SOPHOMORE PICTURE 


‘‘Are you trying to hint that Hal Bowman's a 
thief?" he demanded. 

Sneddon turned to him sneeringly. 

“I'm not trying to hint anything," he drawled. 
“But what — ? Oh," he added, “He’s a special 
friend of yours, isn't he ?" 

“Yes, he’s a friend of mine, and there isn't a 
squarer fellow in college." 

‘'‘Even though he does wrestle ash cans !" 
Again Sneddon sneered. “You commuters have 
to stick together, I suppose," he remarked un- 
pleasantly. 

One or two of the bystanders chuckled, and Ned, 
in spite of his indignation, could not find words for 
a reply. He glared at Sneddon angrily; and the 
other boy, after waiting a moment, turned to his 
companions. 

“O'f course. I'm not saying anything," he con- 
tinued, “but that fellow Bowman has keys to all 
the rooms, I understand. We can't be too care- 
ful these days." 

“That thing's been gone over before, hasn't it, 
Sneddon," Lee Dkkinson suggested quietly. 
“What's the use of harping on it any further." 

Ned turned grateful eyes toward the freshman 
president; and Sneddon, after an uncertain glance 
at the boy who had reprimanded him, muttered 

147 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


something under his breath and shuffled into the 
building. The bell was ringing, and after a mo- 
ment the other members of the group filed into his- 
tory class. Ned followed them, his eyes gleaming 
angrily. It was such fellows as Sneddon who 
kept alive the antagonism of the undergraduates 
against the members of the Commuters’ Club, who 
persisted in directing suspicion toward Hal Bow- 
man when Hal was altogether innocent of the theft. 
Ned seethed inwardly. 

He was anxious for the noon hour to arrive so 
that he could get back to the gymnasium and hear 
what Slim Weber and the others would have to say 
regarding the disappearance of the marked ten dollar 
bill. As soon as the final morning hour was com- 
pleted, therefore, he almost ran across the campus to 
the gym, where he found Slim and Dud awaiting 
him. The eyes of both boys were shining excitedly, 
but evidently they had decided to keep the announce- 
ment of the second theft to themselves until the en- 
tire membership of the club had been; gathered to- 
gether. But Ned knew by the eager look on their 
faces that one or the other had searched for the 
marked bill and found it gone. Ned himself had 
taken a later train from Redway that morning and 
had not said anything to Dud about the presence 
of Fat Ellsworth in the locker room. 

148 


THE SOPHOMORE PICTURE 


Hal Bowman came in shortly, and he, too, seemed 
vastly excited about something. 

‘‘Did you fellows notice anything in front of the 
gym when you came in he asked. 

“Nothing unusual. Why?” 

“I think that the sophs are up to something. I 
came in the back door to take some stuff up to Dr. 
Andrews^ room. I just happened to look out of the 
window, and the sophomores were coming across 
the campus from all directions.” 

Slim Weber jumped excitedly to his feet. For 
the time being, the incident of the stolen money was 
forgotten. 

“I know what it is,” he announced eagerly. 
“They’re going to have their picture taken.” 

“That must be it.” Hal Bowman grinned ex- 
pectantly. “I wonder if we can bust it up.” 

“We’ll have to.” Slim turned toward the others. 
“It says in the handbook that if either the freshmen 
or the sophomore class tries to get its picture taken, 
the other class can break it up if it is able. And the 
sophs have chosen to-day for their attempt; they 
think that all of the freshmen will be at the dorm or 
downtown for lunch.” 

“Let’s do something then. Come on !” 

Slim led the way up the stairs to the main floor 
of the building. From outside the massive front 

149 


NED BEAES, freshman 


doors came the subdued murmur of many voices, 
and for a moment the four freshmen paused uncer- 
tainly. 

‘We can’t just go out and rush them,” Ned whis- 
pered. “They’d overpower us in a minute and prob- 
ably make us get in the picture. What shall we do ?” 

Tht gymnasium porch extended almost across the 
entire front of the building; but inside, on the second 
floor, there was a balcony, out of which three small 
windows opened to the porch. 

“Let’s go upstairs,” Slim suggested. 

They crowded to one of the windows, and looked 
down. Then their hearts thumped excitedly. For 
in front of the gym was gathered practically the 
entire sophomore class. Under the direction of Jim 
Peebles, they were already arranging themselves on 
the steps, before which stood the photographer, with 
his camera all set for action. The campus was deser- 
ted with not a freshman in sight. 

“They’re going to have their picture taken,” Dud 
whispered. “And we’ve got to bust it up. It’s up 
to us.” 

“But how can we do it?” 

It was Hal Bowman who suggested the plan. 

“I’ve got a key to Doc Andrews’ office,” he ex- 
plained hurriedly. “There’s some running water in 

150 


THE SOPHOMORE PICTURE 


there and three or four pails. How about giving 
them a shower bath?” 

For an instant, the three other boys looked at one 
another apprehensively. It would break up the pic- 
ture without doubt ; but they knew that if they should 
be caught, it would mean nothing less than a '‘pad- 
dling” or, at best, a dip in the canal. Nevertheless, 
not one of them offered a word of protest. 

“We’re game,” Ned announced. “Let’s get busy.” 

Hal took command of the situation. 

“You wait here, Ned, and watch,” he commanded. 
“The rest of us will get the water.” 

Ned established himself at one of the windows 
and looked down. Already the sophomores were 
fairly well arranged, and the photographer was ad- 
justing his camera. But as Ned looked, there came 
a diversion. 

Red Simmons, hastening over to the gymnasium 
on the way to his lunch, came suddenly around the 
corner. At the sight of the crowd on the steps, he 
halted in his tracks, and gazed at them with wide- 
opened eyes. One of the sophomores, discovering 
him, leaped from his place. 

“There’s a freshie,” he called. “Get him in the 
picture, quick!” 

Red was thirty yards or more away from the 

151 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


porch and could undoubtedly have made his escape 
if he had decided that flight was the better part of 
valor. But as a ruile, men with hair the color of 
Red’s aren’t made that way. The carrot-topped 
freshman, sensing battle, felt the fighting spirit 
surge irresistibly through him. Instead of running 
away from the sophomores, he ran toward them. 

‘Wow!” he yelled in a shrill voice which went 
echoing across the campus. “Nineteen twenty-five 
this way !” 

Three strong-armed members of the second year 
class bore down upon him threateningly. Red, 
dodging them, dashed toward the porch, and with 
another shrill cry, leaped into the midst of the grin- 
ning sophs. Ned, watching from the upstairs win- 
dow, applauded silently. 

It was an unequal battle, however, and in almost 
no time. Red Simmons found himself overpowered. 
He was carried unceremoniously to the steps, 
dumped down in the midst of the sophomores, with 
his face hidden and his baok turned toward the 
camera. 

“Hurry!” Jim Peebles cried warningly. “Some 
one’s heard him in the dormitory.” 

Ned, glancing across the campus, discerned the 
figures of many freshmen pouring out of the main 
entrance to the dining hall. There came to him 

152 


THE SOPHOMORE PICTURE 


dimly, the rousing sound of his class yell. The 
freshmen were on the trail. 

But the dormitory was quite a distance away, and 
everything was set for the picture. There was still 
time in which to take the photograph before the on- 
rushing freshmen horde could reach the steps. 

“Hurry!” Jim Peebles cried again. 

Hal Bowman, Dud and Slim were already stand- 
ing beside Ned on the inside balcony. 

“Each take his place at a window and throw when 
I say ready,” Hal commanded. “Quick!” 

With pails of water in their hands, the three boys 
took their positions. Quiet fell suddenly upon the 
porch, broken only by the yells of the freshmen dash- 
ing across the campus. 

The photographer held up his hand. 

“All ready,” he said. “Look pleasant.” 

Red Simmons tried desperately to squirm away 
from his captors, but heavy hands held him firmly. 

“Now !” Hal whispered huskily. 

Suddenly and unexpectedly, upon the motionless 
sophomore horde there fell a deluge of water. It 
came apparently from a clear, sky; but it was not 
rain. It was a veritable cloud-burst. It descended 
upon them in sheets, drenching them to the skin, 
breaking up their carefully arranged grouping, 
sweeping off their hats, half strangling them. 

153 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


In an instant, all was confusion on the porch. 
Harsh voices muttered angrily, a hundred eyes 
turned upward. But only the blue of the sky 
arched above them. 

Red Simmons, taking advantage of the confusion, 
wrenched himself free from restraining hands and 
dashed at the camera. The photographer, however, 
snatched it away just in time to prevent its cap- 
ture. He knew, nevertheless, that his work was 
over for the day. With an apprehensive glance be- 
hind him, he picked up his machine and hurried down 
the street. Red let him go. And then, the van- 
guard of the freshmen arrived. 

The sophomores, recovering from their first mo- 
ment of stunned surprise, gathered themselves to- 
gether. Hardly one of them had escaped a thorough 
wetting, and they were keen for revenge. 

‘‘Quick! In the gymnasium!’' Jim Peebles com- 
manded. “Get the fellow who threw that water." 

Hal Bowman, hearing his words, beckoned to his 
fellow conspirators. 

“Come with me," he whispered hurriedly. “We'll 
go in the director's room and shut the door." 

When the sophomores dashed up the stairs to the 
balcony, they found nothing except three open win- 
dows well splattered with water. Amazed, cha- 

154 


THE SOPHOMORE PICTURE 


grined, they gazed at one another with dubious 
eyes. 

*‘He — ^he — theyVe gone,’' Jim Peebles announced. 

The others nodded. Defeat, humiliation, and 
stunned surprise were written on the faces of all of 
them. Their coup had failed ; for the second time 
in two weeks, the freshmen had out-generaled them. 
What they would have said had they known that the 
same fellow who had captured the red flag in the 
Flag Rush had been partly responsible for this 
second affair is a matter of conjecture. But fortu- 
nately for Ned, they did not know. So all that they 
could do was to rush downstairs again and engage 
the increasing freshman horde in desperate combat. 
But even there, they achieved but small satisfaction. 
For the first-year men outnumbered them almost two 
to one, and after fifteen minutes or so of brave de- 
fense, they were forced to admit themselves defeated. 
When the two o’clock he'll rang, they shuffled off to 
the dormitories and fraternity houses, wet, cha- 
grined, beaten. 

After they had gone, Hal Bowman and his co- 
horts slipped out of the director’s room and made 
their way as quietly as possible to their classes. 
They had ‘'put one over” on the sophs. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE THIEF 


T four o’clock, the members of the Com- 



muters’ Club gathered again in the locker 


room. Red Simmons, suspicious but as 


yet uninformed, demanded to know if any of them 
had been present during the sophomore picture 
that noon. Slim Weber, grinning broadly, informed 
Red that they had all been very much present; and 
when his story was finished, the carrot-topped fresh- 
man grinned joyfully. 

‘Too bad we can’t let them know who did it,” he 
said. “That would show the whole crowd of them 
that we’re a live bunch, even if we are commuters. 
Suddenly, his face grew serious. “How about the 
money we planted last night?” he asked. “Any- 
thing happen?” 

Slim Weber, apparently waiting for just such a 
question, nodded excitedly. 

“The money’s gone,” he announced. “The thief’s 
still on the job.” 

Hal Bowman turned eager eyes upon the speaker. 

“When did you find out?” he asked. 


. 156 


THE THIEF 


‘‘This morning. I came here before Chapel, and 
it had disappeared.'’ 

“It was stolen sometime yesterday, then. Prob- 
ably at night." 

“No, not then." It was Ned who spoke. “It 
was gone yesterday afternoon." 

“What?" Slim gazed at him questioningly. 
“How do you know?" he demanded. 

“I came down about six o'clock yesterday," Ned 
explained, “to get my books, and felt in the coat 
pocket. The bill wasn't there." 

“Some one swiped it yesterday afternoon, then." 
Red turned to the others. “Any one of you fellows 
around at that time?" 

“I was," Hal Bowman answered. “But there 
were a lot of men here. I didn't know some of 

them. " 

“I was excused from cheering practice because of 
a make-up in math," Slim Weber put in. “I came 
here at about five o'clock, and the money was all right 

then, because I looked for it." 

“It was stolen then between five and six. Any- 
body here with you, Ned?" 

For a moment, Ned Beals hesitated. He realized 
that things looked bad for Fat ; but in spite of Fat’s 
strange attitude since college opened, Ned still 

157 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


nourished a real affection for the other boy. They 
had been schoolmates for four years, had played 
football together, and baseball. Fat had always 
been inclined to talk too much, but Ned had never 
known him to be dishonest. It didn’t seem possible 
that Fat would deliberately steal money from an- 
other man’s coat, and yet 

There was no doubt of the fact that Fat had 
changed. By putting two and two together, Ned 
surmised that his former schoolmate was having a 
hard time to make ends meet. There was that 
evening in the lunch room, for example, and Fat’s 
failure to join the fraternity to which he was 
pledged. Moreover, there was a worried light in 
Fat’s eyes. 

Could it be possible, Ned asked himself, that Fat 
had reached the point where money had become an 
absolute necessity if he was to hold the position he 
had won in the college body ? Had the Kappa Kap- 
pas become insistent about the payment of some bill 
that Fat had contracted — for fraternity meals, for 
instance? Was Fat really desperate for funds? 

If that was the case, Ned realized that Fat might 
possibly be driven to steal money in order to tide 
him over. He had started out all wrong, had gotten 
deeper and deeper in the slough of his own deceit. 
Perhaps he had reached the point where he had to 

158 


THE THIEF 


do something, anything, to keep up appearances. If 
he had 

The others were regarding Ned curiously, and 
Ned knew that his face was reddening. He wished 
that he had said something to Dud about his sus- 
picions, but there had been no opportunity for a 
private word during the day. 

So Ned made his own decision. He would tell 
the others about it, and let them take whatever action 
they thought best. 

“I did see some one,’’ he admitted uncertainly. 
"Tt was Fat Ellsworth.” 

Dud’s eyes opened wide with surprise, but it was 
Slim Weber who spoke. 

“Do you mean the football player?” he demanded. 

“Yes, he came from the same school that Dud and 
I did.” 

“Humph. Was he all alone in the room?” 

“Yes, I didn’t see any one else.” 

“What did he say when he found you here?” 

“Nothing much; just something about getting a 
train.” 

“Did he act guilty?” 

“Not especially, just about the same as usual.” 

Weber frowned darkly. 

“What about it, Dud?” he asked. “Is this fellow 
Ellsworth all right?” 


159 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


‘‘He always has been,’’ Dud answered without 
hesitation. “And I’ve known him for six years or 
more.” 

“We went to school together,” Ned put in eagerly. 
“And Fat was always just as square as they come.” 

“It’s funny, though.” 

The five boys in the room relapsed into silence. 
Ned’s eyes were troubled, and Dud Chambers 
was tapping his knee thoughtfully with the blunt 
end of a pencil. It was Hal Bowman who spoke 
finally. 

“Even if Ellsworth did take it,” he said, “we’ll 
have a hard job to prove anything, unless, of course, 
we can catch him trying to pass the bill.” 

“And a fat chance we have for that,” Red Sim- 
mons added. 

“I don’t know,” Hal spoke slowly. “To-day is 
the last day in which to pay this term’s Athletic 
Association bills,” he explained. “Lots of the fel- 
lows haven’t done it yet, and there’ll be a big jam 
upstairs at four-thirty. The director has asked me 
to take in the money. The dues, you know, are ten 
dollars a term; and if Ellsworth hasn’t paid yet, 
there’s a chance that he might hand in the marked 
bill.” 

“By George, so there is.” Slim’s eyes gleamed 
i6o 


THE THIEF 


hopefully. “Keep your eyes open, Hal,’^ he sug- 
gested. “And maybe we’ll find out about it after 
all. Is there any way you can make sure that Ells- 
worth hasn’t paid?” 

“I can go up and look now?” 

“Go ahead.” 

When Hal came back to the room, his eyes were 
shining excitedly. 

“He hasn’t paid,” he announced. 

“Good! Watch out for him especially, will 
you?” 

“I sure will.” 

“But I don’t think you’ll find out an3d:hing,” Dud 
put in stubbornly. “Fat wouldn’t steal, I tell you.” 

Ned, however, wasn’t quite so sure. He had kept 
in closer touch with Fat than Dud had since college 
began, and he knew that Fat had permitted him- 
self to drift along just a bit too far. After the 
others had gone, he told something of his suspicions 
to Dud. 

“When a fellow gets to the place where Fat is,” 
he concluded, “he’s likely to do almost anything” 

Dud agreed with him reluctantly. 

“Maybe you’re right, Ned,” he answered. “I 
didn’t quite realize how things stood with him.” 

“Think we ought to see him about it.” 

i6i 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


“No!’’ Dud’s lips shut grimly. “If Fat really 
has stolen the money he ought to be punished for it. 
I hope he hasn’t, though.” 

“So do I.” 

They were both suddenly conscious of a renewal 
of their former affection for Fat. It was strange, 
too, in view of the indifference with which Fat had 
treated them. But neither Ned nor Dud was the 
kind to nourish resentment; and now, when they 
found Fat up against it, they were willing to rally 
to his support, to give him all possible chance to 
prove his innocence. They refused to permit their 
friendship to stand in the way of justice, however; 
if Fat were guilty, they believed that he should take 
his medicine; but they hoped with all the sincerity of 
their loyal young hearts that Fat would prove their 
suspicions groundless. 

After Hal had left for his half-hour’s work up- 
stairs the three other boys waited eagerly in the 
locker room until he should come back again. No 
one said much, but their silence was electric with 
tension and they were all vaguely apprehensive of 
the news that Bowman might bring them. 

Ned, glancing across at Red and Slim, surmised 
that they rather hoped that Fat would prove to be 
the guilty person. They had both suffered a good 
deal from the original theft in the gymnasium, and 
162 


THE THIEF 


they were anxious to free themselves, if possible, 
from the cloud of suspicion which hung over them. 
Fat Ellsworth seemed to be their only chance, and 
circumstantial evidence undeniably pointed to Fat 
as the thief. Ned could hardly blame them for their 
eagerness, for he realized that Fat had done nothing 
to arouse their loyalty, had indeed hardly bothered 
to speak to them when they passed on the campus. 

Red Simmons pulled out his watch and glanced 
at it impatiently. It was almost five o'clock, and at 
that hour the director's office would be closed and 
Hal would come down to them. There were a 
number of other students in the main locker room 
outside, but no one came to bother them in their own 
quarters, and they were left entirely to themselves. 
From the direction of the shower baths drifted the 
sound of hearty laughter; and upstairs, from the 
gymnasium floor, came the tramp, tramp of many 
feet; members of the cadet battalion ‘'making up" 
an extra hour of drill. 

Dud, his eyes somber, moved restlessly. . 

“He ought to be here by now," he suggested. 

Red Simmons nodded. 

“If he doesn't come in ten minutes. I'm going up 
to see him,'’ he announced. 

But Hal came shortly after five o'clock ; his eyes 
were shining excitedly, and a single glance at his 
163 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


face caused both Ned and Dud to catch their breaths 
sharply. 

“I’ve got the bill,” Hal announced excitedly. 
“And we were right ; Fat Ellsworth gave it to me.” 

Red Simmons nodded triumphantly. 

“He’s the thief then,” he answered instantly. 
“And we’ve got the proof on him.” 

Slim Weber nodded grimly. 

“We’ll run him out of college,” he said. 

“Are you sure it was Fat?’^ Dud put in doubtfully. 
“Did you say anything to him about it ?” 

“It was Fat all right.’' Hal spoke crisply. “He 
came in on the way to football practice, handed me 
the bill, and hurried out without even waiting for a 
receipt.” 

“And it was the same bill?” 

“Yes, there was a notch in the corner, just where 
Slim cut it.” 

“What did you do with it ?” Red demanded. “Of 
course, if he cares to deny it, it will be his word 
against yours.” 

“I wasn’t taking any chances,” Hal replied in- 
stantly. “The secretary of the A. A. was there to 
check up. As soon as Fat went out of the room I 
showed him the bill and pointed out the notch. He 
saw Ellsworth give it to me, and there isn’t a chance 
in the world of his denying it.” 

164 


THE THIEF 


Ned glanced questioningly over at Dud. His 
chum’s eyes were somber and his face worried. 
There seemed little doubt of Fat’s guilt; but in spite 
of his previous suspicions, the knowledge came as a 
big shock to Ned. It didn’t seem possible. 

‘^What are we going to do now ?” he asked. 

It was Slim Weber who answered. 

“The only thing to do,” he said, is to get Ells- 
worth here and confront him with the evidence.” 

“But if he denies it?” 

“We’ll prove it to him and then give him a chance 
to quit college.” Slim’s lean jaw shut grimly. 
“I’m tired of being looked upon as a thief every 
time I go out on the campus.” 

Red and Hal nodded, but Dud Chambers said 
nothing. Ned, however, could not help but admit 
that Slim was right ; hard as it would be for Fat to 
be branded as a thief, it seemed the only just thing. 
But to have his former schoolmate driven out of the 
university in disgrace — Ned shook his head help- 
lessly. 

“How are we going to get Fat here?” he asked. 

“It seems to me that that's up to you and Dud,” 
Slim Weber answered instantly. “You know him, 
and you can ask him better than we can.” 

Dud nodded. 

“We’ll go up to football practice and try to see 

165 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


him,” he said. ^‘And we’ll have him meet us here at 
six-thirty. Is that all right?” 

‘‘Yes; and we’ll be waiting for him.” 

There was scrimmage practice that afternoon, 
however, and the two boys did not get a chance to 
talk with Fat until almost six o’clock. Then they 
pushed their way awkwardly through a group of 
players who were starting toward the gymnasium, 
and touched Fat on the shoulder. 

“Hello, there!” Ned blurted embarrassedly. 

Fat turned questioningly ; and at the sight of his 
two friends, his face lighted. There was no sign of 
guilt in the way he looked at them. 

“Watching practice?” he asked pleasantly. 
“We’re going to wallop the tar out of Kentwood on 
Saturday.” 

“Hope we do.” Ned found it hard to go on. 
“Say, Fat,” he asked awkwardly, “do you mind 
stepping in our locker room when you get down to 
the gym.” 

Fat glanced uncertainly at Ned’s flustered face. 

“Of course not,” he answered. “What’s the big 
idea?” 

“Just want to talk to you.” 

“Going to point out the error of my ways, I sup- 
pose,” Fat chuckled amusedly, then his eyes sobered. 
i66 


THE THIEF 


don’t know but it would do me good, at that,” he 
added. 

He did not wait to change from his football togs, 
but followed the two other boys directly to the locker 
room. At the sight of Slim Weber and the others 
he stopped uncertainly. 

'T didn’t know there was going to be a crowd 
here,” he said. 

‘Tt’s all of us want to see you,” Ned answered un- 
happily. ‘‘You tell him, Slim.” 

Slim* Weber walked over and shut the door; then 
faced Fat determinedly. 

“Ellsworth,” he began, “there isn’t any use of 
beating about the bush. We’ve got you here to ask 
you to explain something. We’re not charging you 
with anything, of course, but ” 

Fat’s eyes lighted angrily. 

“Say,” he demanded f 

But Slim cut him short. 

“Let me speak first,” he interrupted, “and then 
you can talk all you want to.” His words were 
measured, direct, commanding silence. “A few 
weeks ago,” he continued, “some one swiped a lot of 
money from the main locker room and the fellows 
have chosen to believe that we did it. We didn’t, of 
course, and in order to clear ourselves we thought 
167 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


out a scheme to discover the real thief if we could. 
Yesterday afternoon, we left a marked ten dollar 
bill in an old coat and hung up the coat out there. 
This morning the money was gone.” 

“And you think — ” Fat put in. 

“Wait a minute. The bill was marked, I said. 
Well, this afternoon, some one gave in that marked 
bill to Hal Bowman upstairs for Athletic Associa- 
tion dues. Do you know who it was ?” 

“No, of course not.” 

“It was you” 

Fat’s heavy face paled. 

“Me?” he stammered. 

“Yes, you. And two men saw you do it.” 

For a full minute. Fat did not answer. His face 
was white, and his eyes turned questioningly from 
one to another of the boys before him. Finally, 
they rested on Ned. 

“And do you and Dud think I did it?” he asked 
bluntly. 

Ned shook his head helplessly. 

“No, we don’t think so. Fat,” he answered. 
“But things look pretty black, and we couldn’t ” 

But Fat was not listening. Two bright spots of 
crimson appeared on his cheeks; for an instant he 
gazed around uncertainly. 

“By George,” he said softly, “I must have sunk 
i68 


THE THIEF 


pretty low to have you fellows think a thing like 
that/’ 

With something of a shudder, he dropped his head 
in his hands. After a moment, he rose to his feet 
again and looked squarely into Slim Weber’s accus- 
ing eyes. 


CHAPTER XIV 


FAT COMES BACK 

F at ELLSWORTH, seemingly, had forgot- 
ten his anger; and when he spoke, his voice 
was low-pitched, but tense. 

“It^s sort of a shock,” he said slowly, ‘^to be ac- 
cused of being a thief, but I admit that things look 
bad, and I don’t blame you fellows a bit. There’s 
only one hitch in the whole scheme.” He paused, 
and again his eyes met those of Slim Weber. “/ 
didn*t happen to steal the money/* 

Weber took a single step backward; Red Sim- 
mons rose to his feet and regarded the speaker with 
wide-open eyes. But it was Dud Chambers who 
broke the ensuing silence. 

‘T’m glad you didn’t do it. Fat,” he said quietly. 
“But how about the marked bill? Where did it 
come from?” Red demanded. 

Fat smiled grimly. 

“It came from the same place where a lot of other 
170 


FAT COMES BACK 


things that haven’t done me any good have come 
from,” he answered. “A fellow by the name of 
Sneddon gave it to me.” 

‘‘You mean Merle Sneddon?” Ned asked. 

“The same person — our own little Merle.” Fat 
spoke bitterly. “Last night up at the Kappa 
House,” he continued, “Sneddon paid me back ten 
dollars that he’s been owing for almost a month.” 

“Did any one see him give it to you ?” Dud put in 
eagerly. 

“Fll say they did!” Fat chuckled, but his eyes 
were glowing. “Sneddon isn’t the fellow to pay 
back a debt without letting the whole world know 
it. He made a regular ceremony of it.” 

“You can prove that he gave it to you, then?” 

“You just bet I can.” Fat turned eagerly to the 
five boys who but a short time before had accused 
him of being a thief. “I can even prove that it had 
a notch in it.” 

“How?” 

“The fellows joked about it, of course, and Tom 
Johnson made believe to examine it to see if it was 
genuine. He pointed out the cut then.” 

“Good work!” Slim Weber regarded Fat criti- 
cally. “You don’t look like a fellow who would 
steal things,” he said. 

“Thanks!” Fat spoke dryly. “But I understand 
171 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


the position you men were in,’’ he added. ‘‘And 
Fm not sore about it — now.” 

To Ned Beals, it seemed as if Fat was himself 
again for the first time since college had opened. 
He smiled relievedly, and found an answering light 
in Dud’s shining eyes. Somehow, he knew that the 
events of that evening were going to bring Fat back 
to them again. 

“What are we going to do?” he demanded. 

It was Fat who answered. 

“We’re going to get Sneddon down here,” he said, 
“and brand him for the coward that he is.” 

“Can you get him to come?” 

“Yes.” Fat turned toward the door. “You fel- 
lows wait here,” he commanded. “He’ll come with 
me if I have to drag him all the way.” 

But evidently Sneddon did not offer any special 
objection, for he returned with Fat in a surprisingly 
short time and regarded the five commuters super- 
ciliously. Johnson, the senior, was with them. 

“I’m honored,” Sneddon drawled patronizingly. 
“What’s this, a secret meeting?” 

“It isn’t going to be very much of a secret by to- 
morrow,” Slim Weber answered grimly. “We’ve 
asked you to come here to answer a question.” 

Sneddon sneered unpleasantly. 

“Of course,” he began, “I haven’t anything else to 
172 


FAT COMES BACK 


do but await your pleasure/’ But his eyes were 
dubious. “Ask it, and get it over with,” he snapped. 

“I will. Where were you yesterday afternoon?” 

“That’s none of your business.” 

“Were you here in the gymnasium?” 

“I think I was, for a little while.” Sneddon’s 
eyes gleamed resentfully. “What’s all this about,” 
he demanded impatiently. “Are you trying to be 
funny, or have you just gone crazy?” 

“Neither.” Slim Weber slipped his hand into his 
pocket and drew out the marked ten dollar bill. 
“Did you ever see that money before, Sneddon?” he 
asked crisply. 

Merle Sneddon’s face went white. He took a 
sudden step backward, started to say something, re- 
covered himself, and sought refuge in bluster. 

“Of course not,” he snapped. “Just what are 
you driving at? If you think ” 

“We think,” Weber put in deliberately, “that 
you’re a thief. And we are charging you with steal- 
ing this money. Is that plain enough?” 

Sneddon’s eyes opened in stunned uncertainty. 

— I — ” he began. Then he turned angrily to 
Fat Ellsworth. “Are you in this thing, too. Fat?” 
he demanded. “If you are ” 

“Yes, Tm in it,” Fat answered sharply. “That 
was the bill you gave me last night, wasn’t it?” 

173 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


“How do I know. I gave you ten dollars, of 
course 

Fat turned quietly to Tom Johnson. 

“How about it, Tom?” he asked. “You exam- 
ined it then. Suppose you take a look at it now. 
Is that the bill Sneddon paid me back my loan 
with?” 

Johnson, frankly puzzled, took the money from 
Slim Weber’s hand and examined it carefully. 

“It’s the same one,” he said. “I remember the 
notch near the corner.” 

Weber smiled triumphantly. 

“And that was the bill that was stolen from my 
coat yesterday afternoon,” he announced. “And 
you stole it, Sneddon.” 

“That’s a lie. I didn’t do anything ” 

But Johnson interrupted him. 

“Let’s get this thing straight,” he suggested. 
“Suppose one of you fellows tell me about it.” 

Briefly, Slim sketched the plan the commuters had 
decided upon, and explained how the bill had come 
back to their possession. When he had finished, 
Johnson’s eyes were somber. 

“Can you tell us how you got hold of the money?” 
he asked Sneddon bluntly. 

“No, I can’t.” Sneddon had suddenly grown de- 
fiant. “This whole thing is a put-up job,” he con- 
174 


FAT COMES BACK 


tinned. ‘"But you haven’t got anything on me. I 
deny it, I tell you; I deny it absolutely.” 

‘‘You’re a thief just the same,” Slim Weber an- 
swered instantly. “It’s my money you stole, and 
I’m going to see that you get what’s coming to you 
for it, too.” 

Sneddon regarded him apprehensively. 

“You mean ” he began. 

“I mean that I’m going to report the thing to the 
police and have you arrested to-night.” 

“Oh, I say!” 

Sneddon’s defiance fell from him instantly. For 
a moment he regarded the circle of men around him 
beseechingly; and then, so suddenly that it seemed 
hardly believable, he dropped to a near-by bench 
and began to whine. 

“I — I — don’t do it,”he pleaded. “I’ll pay it back. 
I’ll do anything you say. Only don’t have me ar- 
rested.” 

Weber regarded him pityingly. 

“You admit it then?” he asked. 

“Yes, anything. Only don’t ” 

“Then quit whining about it.” Slim turned ques- 
tioningly to Johnson. 

“You’re a senior,” he said, “and you know more 
about these things than we do. What shall we do 
about it?” 


175 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


Johnson hesitated for a moment. 

‘‘It seems to me that the best thing to do would be 
just to drop it/' he suggested finally. “We don't 
want to have it get out that there was a thief in col- 
lege ; it wouldn’t do anybody any good.” 

“But how about Sneddon ?” 

“He’ll have to quit, of course.” Johnson walked 
over to where the unhappy freshman sat crouched on 
the bench. “Merle,” he said not unkindly, “it looks 
very much as if you’ve gotten in pretty deep. 
You’ll have to leave college, of course; you’re not 
the kind of man we want at State. But we’ll give 
you our word that we won’t publish the reason for 
your going. But the quicker you get out, the bet- 
ter.” 

For a moment, Sneddon regarded him doubtfully. 
Then, realizing that he was safe from arrest, some 
of his defiance returned. 

“I’ll get out of the old college,” he declared vehe- 
mently, “and I’ll be glad to go. The fellows here 
are just a bunch of stuck-up prigs, and they’re good 
riddance. I’ll get out; you just bet I will.” 

“The sooner you go, the better,” Johnson an- 
swered quietly. 

“I’m going now.” Sneddon rose to his feet and 
shuffled to the door. There he turned. “And as 
176 


FAT COMES BACK 


far as you commuters are concerned/' he flung at 
them. ‘‘You’re as bad as the others. You’re noth- 
ing but a bunch of cheap skates.” 

“Perhaps we are,” Red Simmons retorted. “But 
anyhow, we’re honest.” 

For an instant, Sneddon glowered at them; then 
turned and made his way out of the building. After 
he had gone, the others waited silently. 

“I always knew he was a sneak,” Ned said finally. 
“He cheated in entrance examinations.” 

No one answered him. Johnson, after a moment 
of waiting, turned questioningly to Fat. 

“Coming up to the house ?” he asked casually. 

But Fat shook his head. 

“No, Tom,” he answered. “Not to-night.” 

“Well, so-long, then!” 

“Wait a minute.” It was Fat speaking. His 
usually smiling face was grim, and his eyes shone 
determinedly. “This affair of Sneddon’s has sort 
of put me wise to myself, Tom,” he said bravely. 
“Sneddon has been bluffing ever since he came to 
college, and finally he got in so deep that he had to 
steal money in order to hold his end up.” Fat’s 
voice caught, but he swallowed hard, and continued. 
“Well, I’ve been doing about the same thing,” he 
confessed. “I’ve been bluffing things, too, Tom.” 
177 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


The senior gazed at him in frank amazement. 

‘‘Don’t you think we ought to go up to the house 
and talk about that?” he asked. 

“No, I’d rather have it out right here.” Fat’s 
voice was just a bit too shrill, but his eyes were 
steady. “I’ve tried to let you fellows think that I’ve 
got money,” he continued, “and I pledged myself 
Kappa Kap without having any idea of joining, for 
a year at least. I couldn’t afford it, couldn’t even 
afford to eat lunch at the house. But I thought 
maybe I could get away with it; I haven’t taken a 
room down here, just grafted on other fellows; and 
when I could, I sneaked downtown and ate lunch 
there in cheap lunch rooms. I was doing that kind 
of thing last night when Ned Beals found me, eating 
some bananas here in the gym so that I wouldn’t 
have to pay for supper at the fraternity house. I’ve 
been bluffing ever since I came here, and now, well 
— now I’m going to quit it.” 

The others were listening curiously, but no one 
spoke. But when Fat finished, Johnson’s face grew 
suddenly hard. 

“Some of us have suspected as much,” he said 
bluntly. “yWhat do you want to do, break your 
pledge ?” 

For a moment. Fat’s eyes wavered; then he 
178 


FAT COMES BACK 


raised them again and looked directly at the man 
who had asked him to join Kappa Kappa* 

‘‘If you want me to/' he said. 

Just for a moment, Johnson hesitated, then: 

“Perhaps it would be better/' he answered indif- 
ferently. “I'll tell the fellows about it to-night." 

With troubled face and shaking hands. Fat Ells- 
worth fumbled at the lapel of his coat and drew off 
the pledge button which had meant so much to him. 
Without a word, he handed it to Tom Johnson. 

“Tell them I’m sorry," he said chokingly. “I 
won't forget what they've done for me, Tom." 

Without answering, the senior took the button 
and slipped it into a pocket of his coat. For a mo- 
ment, he waited, then laughed awkwardly. 

“There's nothing more that I can do, is there?" 
he asked. 

“No." It was Slim We*ber who answered, a 
grim- faced Slim who looked over at Johnson bel- 
ligerently. 

“I'll trot along then. So-long, you fellows !" 

Hal Bowman mumbled something, but the others 
watched the senior's departure in silence. When he 
had gone, Weber turned to the somber-eyed Fat 
Ellsworth. 

“You did the square thing," he said quietly. 

179 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


“And if all the bunch in that fraternity are like 
Johnson, you’re wise in getting away from them.” 

Fat nodded miserably; and Ned Beals regarded 
him with sympathetic eyes. For Ned knew how 
much Fat had counted upon being a fraternity man, 
and how hurt he must have been to have Johnson 
take back his pledge button without even a protest. 

“Don’t give them another thought, Fat,” he said 
quietly. “From what I’ve heard of the Kappa 
Kaps, they’re not the bunch you’d want to tie up with 
anyhow.” 

“I suppose not.” It was hard, though, for Fat to 
adjust himself to the new order of things. “They 
were mighty nice to me — mostly,” he added. 

Slim Weber offered a word of encouragement. 

“There are other fraternities in college,” he sug- 
gested. “And you’ve got four years yet.” 

“Yes.” With an obvious effort, Fat pulled him- 
self together. “Anyhow,” he said, “I can at least 
be natural after this. And I’ve proved to you fel- 
lows that I’m not a thief ; that’s something.” 

“It’s a whole lot.” 

“But goodness knows, I might have been if I had 
kept up the way I’ve been going,” Fat added hon- 
estly. “You can’t imagine how much fellows spend 
down here, and I was just fool enough to try to keep 
up with them.” His face broke into a wistful smile. 
i8o 


FAT COMES BACK 


‘‘I couldn’t stand the pace,” he explained. “I 
cracked under the strain.” 

^‘Going to commute from now on?” Dud asked. 

‘^You just bet I am.” Fat turned ruefully to his 
two former schoolmates. 'T suppose after the way 
Fve acted, you and Ned won’t want to have anything 
to do with me.” 

But Dud only smiled into his anxious eyes. 

‘‘Of course we do,” he answered quietly. “I — I 
wonder if you’d care to come in with us and join the 
Commuters’ Club.” 

Suddenly, Fat Ellsworth was very close to tears. 

“You wouldn’t want me,” he answered unhappily, 
“but if you would ” 

“Of course we do,” Slim Weber put in. “There 
are only five of us, and we need another man.” 

Fat regarded them doubtfully. 

“I’d like to join but ” 

“We’ll count you in, then,” Red Simmons an- 
nounced. “All in favor say ‘aye.’ ” 

There were no dissenting votes. Fat, his face 
suddenly crimson, started to say something, but the 
words caught in his throat. But Ned Beals knew, 
by the light in his eyes, that he was happier than he 
had been since college opened. 

For the first time in weeks, the three boys went 
home to Redway together. 


CHAPTER XV 


REPORTED 


N ed BEALS was telling Bill Weston about 
Fat. 

‘Tt almost broke his heart to see John- 
son take back the pledge button without even a pro- 
test/’ he concluded. 'Tf all fraternities are like that, 
I’m glad I’m a neutral.” 

But Weston shook his head. 

“They’re not,” he answered, “and you want to get 
it out of your head, Ned, that fraternities aren’t a 
good thing for the college. As a rule, they are; 
you’ll find Kappa Kappa an exception.” 

Afterwards, Ned was to learn that Weston was 
right; but for the time being, his heart was bitter 
against Tom Johnson and fellows like him who 
seemed to think that unless a man had money, there 
was no good in him. 

Outside of the injury to Fat’s pride, however, 
things had worked out in splendid shape. Fat Ells- 
worth, slightly sobered and less talkative than Ned 
182 


REPORTED 


had ever known him to be, took his place among the 
members of the Commuters’ Club and openly carried 
his lunch over to the gymnasium every noon. The 
fact that he was a member of the football team 
spared him to a large degree from the general ani- 
mosity of the student body. But Fat seemed to 
have grown suddenly indifferent as to his standing 
with the undergraduates; during college hours he 
studied and attended classes, and as soon as four 
o’clcfck rolled around, he hastened to the football 
field for the inevitable practice. Occasionally, Ned 
was surprised at a new light in his eyes, as if Fat 
was just a bit overawed at what might have happened 
to him if the incident of the locker room theft had 
not brought him to his senses. For Fat realized 
that he had been pretty close to the danger zone, and 
that only a miracle had saved him. 

He was worried, too, about his lessons. He was 
beginning to understand that a man could not play 
football every afternoon and attend the “movies” at 
night, and still hope to maintain a good scholastic 
standing. Already two of his professors had 
warned him that he was almost hopelessly deficient, 
and Fat knew that if he hoped to play in the big 
game with Millburn at the season’s end, he would 
have to study as he had never studied before. So 
he settled down, hurrying back to Redway as soon as 

183 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


practice was finished, and spending long hours in a 
desperate attempt to make up for what he had lost 
during the first few weeks. 

But it was hard work. Practice left him tired; 
in spite of his efforts to concentrate, his eyes grew 
heavy with weariness before he had half completed 
his lesson assignments, and time and again he was 
forced to close his books and turn in with his work 
unfinished. He was laboring under a handicap 
which seemed impossible to overcome. If he had 
not fallen so far behind at the beginning, things 
might have been different. But he had shirked, and 
now he looked forward to the first reports of the 
term with worried foreboding. He was in danger 
of losing his place on the varsity. 

Interest in the football team grew steadily among 
the undergraduates. The season had been a good 
one, and there was every hope of defeating Millburn 
in the final game. If the team could be kept intact, 
State looked for victory. 

Ned and Dud made it a point to attend practice as 
often as possible, for they were resolved not to fall 
into the habit of many of the commuters and hurry 
home as soon as lessons were ended. As the days 
wore on, they were conscious of a weakening of the 
hostility of their fellow students; somehow word 
had gone around that the man who stole money 
184 


REPORTED 


from the locker room had been discovered and had 
quietly left college. The general attitude toward 
commuters as a whole changed from open antagon- 
ism to passive indifference ; the college looked upon 
them as something that had to be endured, and made 
the best of it. Once, a member of one of the younger 
fraternities invited Ned and Dud to supper, but Ned 
knew that he would not be able to join even though 
he were given a “bid,” and so they politely refused. 
They were pleased, nevertheless ; and although they 
did not voice the thought, both were grimdy resolved 
to show the student body ^hat at least some of the 
commuters could be as loyally interested in State as 
the fellows who “stayed down.” 

Bill Weston continued to dominate the play of the 
football team. He was a star of the first magni- 
tude; and with him to lead the attack against Mill- 
burn, victory in the biggest game of the year seemed 
assured. But Bill was worried, for there was a real 
danger of his being reported deficient in Latin: He 
knew that if his fears should be realized, he would 
be ineligible to play against Millbum unless he took 
a special examination. And he knew, too, that only 
by a miracle could he pass that exam. 

Things came to a head on the Monday following 
the Delaware game. It was the day when the first 
reports of the term were announced; and the foot- 

185 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


ball manager, his face worried, dropped in at the 
Registrar’s office for the marks of the varsity play- 
ers. When he came out again, his eyes were somber. 
Bill Weston had been reported as notably deficient 
in Latin. 

Weston took the news^ calmly, and without com- 
ment. Ned, dropping into his room that afternoon, 
found him gazing thoughtfully out of the open win- 
dow. He turned, and smiled wistfully. 

“I guess it’s all up, Ned,” he declared hopelessly. 
‘^I’m stuck.” 

For a long time they sat quietly in the dormitory 
room, while students tramped by them in the narrow 
halls and the college life went on without apparent 
change. But the thing which had happened to Wes- 
ton was, nevertheless, the deep concern of the entire 
college, for without the star fullback, State would 
go down to defeat in the last game of the season. 
And it was the game which they wanted, more than 
all the others, to win. 

It was Ned who suggested the only possible way 
out. 

“You’ll have to tutor,” he said. 

Weston nodded. 

“I suppose so,” he answered indifferently. “But 
it won’t do any good. They’ll get some highbrow 

i86 


REPORTED 


senior to try to cram the stuff into me; I’ll get sore 
about it right off the bat and be in a worse tangle 
than I am now. There isn’t a chance in the world.” 

“Ever try it before ?” 

“Yes, in prep school, and it didn’t do any good.” 

“What was the trouble?” 

“It’s my nature, I guess. I just don’t like to be 
iold things.” 

For a moment Ned hesitated. 

“Would it make any difference,” he asked doubt- 
fully, “if some one you knew pretty well, me for 
instance, should work with you?” 

Weston’s eyes opened wide. 

“It might,” he answered. 

“Why don’t you let me try it then? I can stay 
down nights and plug on Latin with you. It’ll be 
fun.” 

“Fun? It’ll be agony for you.” The football 
player shook his head grimly. “You’ve done 
enough for me as it is,” he continued. “I know 
something about commuting, and I know what a 
sacrifice it will mean to you. I couldn’t do it, Ned.” 

“But there’s a chance that you’ll get through if 
you do. And — and I’d like to. Bill.” 

But the other boy’s lips shut stubbornly. 

“You’ve done enough already,” he repeated. 

187 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


Ned had already learned that Weston was not a 
man to be driven to a thing. But he tried one more 
argument. 

‘'Let’s leave you and me out of it,” he suggested. 
“And think only of the college. I’d like to do it. 
Bill, not for you especially, but for State.” 

Weston turned then, and glanced at him question- 
ingly. 

“How for the college ?” he asked. 

“If you play against Millburn, we’ll win; if you 
don’t, we’ll lose. And if I can get you in, it will 
be just as if I was a football player, working for the 
team. The college needs you, and I’m a college 
man. It’s my chance to help. Don’t you see it, 
Bill?” 

After a time, Weston nodded. 

“Yes, I see it,” he admitted finally. The lines 
of his face suddenly softened. “You’re all right, 
Ned,” he said quietly. 

They decided to spend every one of the ten work- 
ing nights which remained before the Millburn game 
in Bill Weston’s room, “plugging” on Latin. It 
was going to be hard, and his own studies would 
suffer accordingly; but Ned did not care much 
about that. He could catch up later. The only 
thing which mattered at the present moment was to 
get Bill Weston in shape for the coming examina- 
i88 


REPORTED 


tion. If he passed, it would mean victory for State; 
if he failed 

But Ned shook his head grimly. Bill was not 
going to fail. He was going to get through. 

Ned walked down to the gymnasium to tell Dud 
that he would have to stay at the college evenings 
until the end of the football season. Dud had not 
yet come into the locker room, but Fat Ellsworth was 
there, a heavy-eyed Fat who greeted him wearily, 

*‘IVe just been reported deficient in three sub- 
jects,^’ he announced. ‘^And now Fm off the foot- 
ball team.” 

Ned’s heart went out to Fat in a sudden wave of 
sympathy. 

^That’s hard luck. Fat,” he said. ‘T ” 

*‘It isn’t hard luck, just poor management,” Fat 
answered grimly. had it coming to me, Ned.” 

‘‘But you can take exams, can’t you, and get 
back?” 

“No, I’m through. If I only had one condition, 
they’d let me try it, but with three, I can’t even 
practice with the team.” 

“And you’ll lose your varsity letter?” 

“Yes, I’ll lose it, but it’s my own fault.” Fat was 
hard hit, but he was taking it bravely. “I’ve learned 
my lesson, Ned,” he added quietly. “It’s a good 
thing probably.” 


189 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


Ned did not answer, but after Dud had come in 
and the other two boys had left for home, he sat 
for a long time in the locker room and thought about 
Fat. It was hard lines, but at least Fat had learned 
that it doesn^t pay to try to deceive people. Ned 
knew that in the end it would be the best thing that 
could possibly have happened. For Fat had come 
safely through the danger zone. 


CHAPTER XVI 


VARSITY TIMBER 

T he task that he had taken upon himself was 
no easy one for Ned Beals. It meant that 
from five until seven o’clock, he would have 
to wander aimlessly around college, that he would 
have to buy meals at restaurants downtown, that he 
would miss the companionship of Dud and Fat. 
But it would be worth it, he told himself, for it gave 
him the chance he had been waiting for — to do some- 
thing for the college. He was working with the 
varsity football team. 

Ned was forced to smile a bit at the twist of cir- 
cumstance which had, in a way, reversed the pos- 
itions of Fat Ellsworth and himself. Before the 
marks had been announced at the office. Fat had been 
a varsity football player, and Ned nothing but a 
spectator. But now, Fat had been relegated to the 
status of an onlooker, and Ned, although there was 
no chance of winning his S, was at least an im- 
portant cog in the machinery of the football team. 
For if he should fail in the task he had undertaken, 
191 


NED BEALS,. FRESHMAN 


tt would mean that State would lose its final game 
with Millburn. 

On the first afternoon of the new order of things, 
Ned watched the football practice with a new and 
more intimate interest. It was almost as if he him- 
self were one of the squad, as much a player as Cap- 
tain *‘Rip’^ Van Winkle and the other steel-muscled 
giants who pounded across the cleat-torn gridiron. 
He was half tempted to leave the stands and go out 
to the sidelines; and he wondered curiously what 
Coaoh Bailey would say if he should suddenly take 
his place beside the grim- faced mentor and assert 
his privilege as a member of the squad. But he 
did not do it, of course; instead, he kept to his seat 
in the bleachers and followed the practice with eager 
eyes. 

At half-past five, when darkness made further 
work impossible, the players trotted once around 
the cinder track and then jogged down the street to 
the gymnasium. After they had gone, Ned ex- 
perienced a vague feeling of loneliness. His fellow 
freshmen in the stands wandered back to their 
rooms ; the campus was seemingly deserted. 

But there was nowhere he could go, except to the 
college library or back to the deserted locker room 
in the gym. Dud and the other commuters had left 
192 


VARSITY TIMBER 


for home, and Ned was very much alone. He would 
have liked to have eaten supper in the dining hall 
in the basement of the Main Dormitory, but he had 
never even been in the place, and he was fearful of 
the curious eyes of his fellow students. So he re- 
solved that he would go down to the gymnasium to 
get his books and then find a restaurant somewhere 
in town. 

He considered for a moment the advisability of 
going without supper entirely ; for he could not eat 
without money, and his funds were by no means un- 
limited. He resolved that hereafter he would bring 
enough lunch from home to last for two meals. It 
would be rather monotonous, of course, but at least 
it would not entail any additional expenditure. 

At the door of the gymnasium, however, he met 
Bill Weston, who had changed from his football 
togs and was evidently on his way to the dormitory. 
Bill’s face lighted at the sight of him. 

^*1 was just wondering about you,’^ he said. 
**Come on over and eat with me.” 

But Ned shook his head. 

‘T couldn’t do that. Bill,” he answered. “I — I’m 
going to get a bite downtown.” 

The football player, however, only snorted in- 
dignantly. 


193 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 

“You’re not going to do anything of the kind,” 
he announced gruffly. “From now until the Mill- 
burn game, you’ll be my guest at the dorm.” 

Ned was conscious of a momentary thrill of 
pleasure, but he protested, nevertheless. 

“Thanks, Bill,” he said. “But there’s no need 
for you to bother about me. You can ” 

The other boy, however, gripped him forcibly by 
the arm. 

“Nonsense!” he snapped. “You’re coming with 
me.” 

‘‘But ” 

“It’s the least I can do,” Bill continued. “You 
won’t take any money for tutoring, and the suppers 
aren’t half meeting the obligation. You have to 
come, that’s all there is to it.” 

Ned, recognizing the fairness of the argument, and 
realizing that Weston would be hurt if he should 
persist in his refusal, reluctantly consented. He 
was surprised, however, when Bill led him to the 
special table in the dining hall where the members 
of the football team were gathered. 

“What’s the big idea?” he asked. “This is the 
training table.” 

Bill nodded. 

“Yes,” he answered, “and it’s where you’re going 
to eat until the season is finished.” 

194 


VARSITY TIMBER 


They found places near the foot of the table with 
the other freshmen on the squad. Several of the 
players glanced at him curiously; but they were 
pleasant enough and apparently took his presence as 
granted. After an indifferent question or two, 
they returned to the all-absorbing topic of the 
day — the chances of the football team against 
Millbum. 

Ned learned a good deal during that first meal at 
the dormitory. He had never quite realized before 
how important the Millbum game was in the eyes of 
the team, and of the college. Seemingly, they talked 
of nothing else; and when Bill Weston announced 
that Ned was going to tutor him in Hatin, the other 
players turned to him gratefully and even Coach 
Bailey stopped in his discussion of a special for- 
mation and nodded in approval. 

‘‘Good work!” he said. “We’re looking to you 
to put him through.” 

Ned did not answer, but his lips set in sudden 
determination. The great Bailey, one of the wisest 
football coaches in the country, had in a way, placed 
the fortunes of the team in his hands. He resolved 
that Bill Weston would pass that Latin examination 
if it was the last thing he ever did. 

After supper, they went up to Bill’s room and sat 
side by side at the center table. For an hour they 

195 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


studied without interruption ; and although his pupil 
displayed an amazing lack of knowledge of the sub- 
ject, Ned kept at him grimly, and Bill did his best 
to follow the intricate translations. 

At eight o'clock, they sat back for a brief recess. 
The night was warm, and Ned walked over to the 
window and opened it. From the dormitory porch 
came the sound of subdued voices; and then, sud- 
denly, the sharp yell of the sophomore class broke 
the stillness of the evening. Weston grinned into 
Ned’s puzzled eyes. 

“They’ll probably have a pajama parade,” he ex- 
plained. “We’re about due for one.” 

Because of the fact that he had never been at the 
college at night, Ned did not know what a pajama 
parade was. 

“What do they do?” he asked curiously. 

“Make all the freshies put on pajamas and march 
downtown,” Bill answered. “Maybe they’ll be here 
soon.” 

But Bill did not seem to be particularly worried 
about it, and Ned refrained from further question- 
ing. In another two minutes, however, footsteps 
sounded on the corridor outside, and three sopho- 
mores burst into the room. 

“All out, freshmen,” one of them commanded. 
“Get on your pajamas.” 

196 


VARSITY TIMBER 


Bill Weston only smiled indifferently. 

‘T’m on the football squad/' he answered. ‘‘My 
name’s Weston.” 

“Oh,” The sophomores halted uncertainly, and 
then the one who was evidently the leader nodded. 

“All right,” he said, “you’re out of it. But how 
about this other chap?” 

“That’s Beals, the guy that got away with the 
flag,” another of them announced. “He’ll make a 
good leader of the pee-rade.” 

They advanced again into the room, but Bill Wes- 
ton held up his hand. 

“Beals joined the training table to-day,” he de- 
clared quietly. “He’s working with me for the 
Millbum game.” 

“What’s that?” The sophomore leader was 
frankly puzzled. “You mean he’s out for the 
team?” 

“I mean you’re to let him alone.” Weston spoke 
quietly enough, but there was a dangerous light in 
his eyes. “If you want to know anything more 
about it, go and see Coach Bailey.” 

“But if he isn’t a football player, what right has 
he to get out of the pee-rade. He’s just the man 
we want.” 

Prom other parts of the building came shrill com- 
mands of the joyful sophomores. Footsteps ap- 
197 


NED BEALS, FRES.HMAN 


preached, and a line of freshmen with pajamas 
slipped over their other clothes passed down the 
hall. 

“Wait a minute,*' one of the sophomores sugges- 
ted. “Here's Jim Peebles." 

In response to their summons, the sophomore 
president hurried into the room. 

“What's the rumpus?" he asked. 

One of his followers explained the situation, and 
when he had finished Peebles looked over at Ned 
and nodded reluctantly. 

“We sure would like to have you in this parade," 
he said. “But the football team needs you more than 
we do. Come on, you fellow's." 

When the sophomores had gone, Ned turned 
grateful eyes to Bill Weston. 

“You: got me out of a, big mess. Bill," he said. 

But Weston only smiled grimly. 

“It wasn’t me that saved you;" he answered. “It's 
what you're doing for the college." 

Ned foimd it hard to apply himself to Latin after 
that. The night had been filled with surprises. 
First, he had been admitted to the training table; 
and second, he had escaped the trials of a freshman 
“pee-rade'’ because of his connection with the var- 
sity. To all intents and purposes, he was a mem- 
ber of the football team. 

198 


VARSITY TIMBER 


A member of the team! The lines about his 
mouth grew suddenly taut. As one of the team, 
then, it wa^ up to him to make good. The Mill- 
bum game depended upon it. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE SPECIAL EXAM 

T he following week was one which Ned 
Beals knew he would never forget. Even- 
ings, he sat with the other students on the 
steps of the dormitory and cheered for the football 
team, listened to the speeches of Captain Rip Van 
Winkle and thrilled at the inspiring words of the 
fiery Coach Bailey. He learned, during those eve- 
nings at the dormitorry, that as far as the under- 
graduates were concerned, the winning of the game 
with Millburn was of momentous importance. The 
success or failure of the season depended upon it; 
and the interest of the college, tense, expectant, cen- 
tered upon that final contest to the exclusion of 
everything else. 

Bill Weston had already been pledged to Alpha 
Beta, the fraternity which he declared was more 
worth while than any of the others. One memorable 
afternoon, Ned spent an hour with the Alpha Betas, 
and he sensed at once the difference in their attitude. 


200 


THE SPECIAL EXAM 


They were pleasant to him, but not cloyingly so, 
they gave him the impression, somehow, that they 
were glad to see him, that he was all right. He 
wondered wistfully if he would ever be asked to 
join a group of men like that, and he knew that it 
would be a fine thing to have daily association with 
them. His opinion of college fraternities under- 
went a radical change. 

Saturday came, and State met Pittsfield in the last 
home game of the season. Without Bill Weston, 
the team was ineffective, lacking in power. They 
were lucky to come through with a scoreless tie ; and 
when the contest was finished, the students marched 
back to the* college without enthusiasm, with their 
spirits deadened. Unless Weston worked off his 
deficiency, they knew that MJllburn would beat them. 

Night after night, Ned and the football star 
worked desperately over the Latin book. Weston 
improved, showed increasing knowledge of the sub- 
ject and grew hopeful. Afternoons, he practiced 
with the team, learning the new formations, keeping 
in condition. Evenings he studied, forcing himself 
to concentrate, attacking the assignments with a 
grim determination which was characteristic of all 
his actions. And the day of the game approached 
swiftly; the atmosphere of the campus grew tense 


201 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


with expectancy. The success of the season de- 
pended upon the freshman star’s ability to pass the 
special examination. 

On Thursday night, Ned and Bill reviewed the 
subject for the last time. Weston translated halt- 
ingly, but with awkward accuracy; occasionally he 
floundered hopelessly, but there was no doubt of the 
fact that he had improved immensely. There seemed 
an even chance of his getting through. An even 
chance ! And the Millburn game depended upon his 
passing. 

Ned did not go home at all that night; and the 
next morning, when he awakened, he was more ner- 
vous than if he himself were going to take the test. 
All through the day, he went about as in a daze, and 
even the fact that the Alpha Betas invited him to 
take supper with them did not rouse him from his 
lethargy. What if Weston should fail? 

There was a big mass- meeting in the gymnasium at 
eight o’clock, and Ned planned to attend it in com- 
pany with Dud and Fat. The two other boys came 
to Weston’s room at seven-thirty, and the football 
player greeted them cordially. He had already 
accepted them as friends. In another half hour. 
Bill would report for his examination ; and while his 
fellow students cheered and sang for the team, he 
would be meeting the big test, alone. 


202 


THE SPECIAL EXAM 


But he gave no sign of nervousness; and shortly 
before eight o’clock, he shook hands with the others 
and walked down the steps with them to the porch of 
the dormitory. There he stopped and laid a hand 
with assumed carelessness on Ned’s shoulders. 

‘‘Thanks, Ned!” he said quietly. ‘T won’t for- 
get.” 

They watched him while he walked over to York 
Hall to the room where the Latin prof was waiting; 
and after he had gone into the building, the three 
boys strolled slowly toward the gymnasium where 
the final mass meeting of the season was to be held. 

A silver moon was just peeping over the tops of 
the trees to the south of the campus, and the rugged 
stone buildings o'f the university were outlined 
clearly in the mellow light. From across the street, 
Ned could see the Alpha Beta house, and as he 
looked over at it, a group of boys came out the front 
door and headed toward the gym. Ned regarded 
them wistfully. He wondered if by any miracle, 
they would ever ask him to join them. 

It was the first time that the three commuters had 
ever been together on the college campus at night. 
It drew them closer somehow, so that Ned laid his 
hand carelessly on Dud’s arm and wondered if his 
chum also felt the witchery of the moonlight upon 
the shadowed buildings. But it was Fat who spoke. 

203 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


“Next summer,” he said, “I’m going to work 
my head off so that I can make enough money to stay 
down here all the time. We’re missing a good deal.” 

“Yes,” Dud answered, “I wish that we could all 
stay down and room together — next year.” 

It occurred to Ned that Dud could live at the 
college any time he wanted to ; could begin the very 
next day, for that matter. But Dud, evidently, 
preferred to stick with his high school friends. It 
was mighty white of Dud. 

On the porch of the gymnasium, they found a 
shifting crowd of students ; but after a brief moment 
of waiting, the doors were opened and they passed 
into the main auditorium, where seats had been 
placed on the gym floor for the meeting. At the 
front of the room stood a senior named Hal Van 
Mater, who was president of the senior class; and 
next to him was Rip Van Winkle, the football cap- 
tain. Rip’s face was worried. 

Slim Weber and Hal Bowman joined them 
shortly, and after a good deal of searching, they 
found Red Simmons explaining to a group of fellow 
freshmen how State was going to win the next day 
by a score of twenty to six. Nothing seemed to 
bother Red much ; he was always predicting victory. 

Students continued to pour into the gymnasium, 
until all the seats were taken and some of the fresh- 


204 


THE SPECIAL EXAM 


men were forced to find places on the tops of the 
gun racks which extended the length of the room. 
It was almost time for the meeting to start, and Ned 
noticed signs of activity on the part of the student 
leaders who were directing the rally. Van Mater 
continued talking to Rip Van Winkle, and after a 
moment he raised his megaphone to his lips and ad- 
dressed the assembled students. 

“Is Ned Beals here?” he boomed. “Beals, the 
freshman?” 

Curious eyes turned in his direction, and Ned 
found himself growing red. But he slid down from 
his perch on the gun rack and held up his hand. 

“Here he is,” some one called. 

“Come up here, will you, Beals?” Van Mater re- 
quested. 

Mystified, and just a bit apprehensive, Ned 
wormed his way to the front of the room. 

“I’m Beals,” he announced. 

But it was the football captain, and not Van 
Mater, who turned to him. 

“How about Bill Weston?” he asked. “Has he 
gone to the exam ?” 

“Yes, he went about ten minutes ago.” 

“Do you think he can pass it?” The football 
captain tried to make his words sound casual, but 
his eyes shone worriedly. 

205 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


‘1 think he can,’' Ned answered honestly, “but 
there’s a chance that if he gets certain passages, he’ll 
flunk.” 

“He’s got a chance then, has he?” 

“Yes, an even chance, at least.” 

“That’s all I wanted to know. Thanks 1” 

Van Winkle turned away, with something of the 
worry gone from his face, and Ned went back to 
Dud and the other commuters. Red Simmons 
greeted him jovially. 

“Some man,” he said, “being paged in front of the 
whole college ! Did Van want you to lead the meet- 
ing for him?” 

“No, only wanted to know about Weston.” 

“Nevertheless, you’re some feller, just the same.” 
Red turned twinkling eyes to the others. “We have 
with us the Honorable Mr. Beals, of the freshman 
class,” he announced. “I am sure that ” 

But the pounding of a gavel in the front of the 
room interrupted him. The meeting was about to 
begin. 

Both Ned and Dud had been to other mass meet- 
ings before, but never such a one as was held that 
night. It seemed as if the spirit of the college had 
been lying dormant during the season, so that it 
could let itself out in one grand tribute to the foot- 
ball team on the evening before the final game. 
206 


THE SPECIAL EXAM 


There were cheers which shook the rafters of the 
building, and songs which caused Ned to catch his 
breath sharply and wonder if ever such songs had 
been sung before. And the speeches were all of 
victory, and the undaunted courage of the team. 

The President of the college was there in person; 
a gray-haired man who spoke with quiet dignity of 
the traditions of State. 

'‘We are going to win, of course,” he said (and 
waited while the volume of cheers died down) , “but 
if by any chance we should be defeated, I know that 
the State warriors will go down fighting cleanly and 
courageously until the last whistle is sounded.” 

There was something about that speech which 
left an indelible impression upon Ned Beals. He 
glimpsed in the words of the venerable President 
something of the deeper meaning of college life. It 
was not victory always that counted, but rather the 
playing of each game cleanly and well. That was 
what college stood for. 

There were other speeches; a rather jumbled ef- 
fort by Rip Van Winkle, who could play football 
better than he could talk ; and a fiery exhortation by 
Coach Bailey, whose shrill voice cracked like a whip 
through the crowded gymnasium and whose whole 
attitude was one of defiant confidence which nothing 
could shake. 


207 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


There was, too, a talk by the Dean of the college, 
who showed a surprising knowledge of the finer 
points of football, but who concluded his words with 
the statement that the game itself depended in a 
large degree upon the spirit which would be preva- 
lent in the cheering section of State. 

When he had finished, Hal Van Mater got up and 
commanded them to show the Dean what kind of 
spirit they had. And the cheer that followed caused 
even the grim-lipped Coach Bailey to smile happily. 
There was no doubting the spirit of the college. 

There was a song after that, and another cheer or 
two; but Ned Beals found himself suddenly restless, 
and eager to get away. For the clock on the op- 
posite wall pointed to five minutes after ten, and 
Ned knew that Bill Weston had finished his exam. 
He was impatient to get over to the dormitory and 
find out about the test from Bill. 

As soon as the meeting was concluded, he pushed 
his way through the lingering crowd of students and 
hurried across the campus to the dormitory. Fat 
Ellsworth had remained at the gym, but Dud had 
followed Ned, and the two of them went into Wes- 
ton’s room together. The football player was 
already there. 

‘‘What about it?” Ned asked breathlessly. “Do 
you think you passed?” 

208 


THE SPECIAL EXAM 


Weston looked over at him uncertainly. 

‘Tt was a corker,” he answered honestly. ‘‘And 
I don’t know whether I hit it right or not.” 

“When will you hear?” 

“In a few minutes now. The prof said he’d 
phone me as soon as he corrected the paper.” 

The three boys waited in silence for the telephone 
downstairs to ring out its summons to Bill Weston. 
To Ned Beals, it seemed as if they sat there for 
hours, but in reality it was hardly more than ten 
minutes. Weston himself, who would be chiefly 
affected by the coming announcement, sat at the 
center table, his rugged face impassive. But Ned 
noticed that his hands opened and closed nervously, 
and th^t occasionally he moistened his lips with the 
tip of his tongue. It was a momentous ten minutes 
for Bill Weston — and for the college. Defeat or 
victory depended upon the message which would 
shortly come to them. 

At twenty minutes after ten, the telephone bell 
rang shrilly. With a sigh of infinite relief, Weston 
went downstairs to answer it, while Ned and Dud 
waited in silence. The crisis had come. But, 
curiously, to Ned Beals, the only thing that mattered 
was the college. He wanted Bill to pass, of course, 
because Bill was his friend, and passing the exam- 
ination meant that he would be given the chance to 
209 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


cover himself with glory. But in that moment of 
tensely anxious waiting, the college counted more 
than Bill. Ned wanted State to beat Millbum. 

After a seemingly endless interval, Weston came 
back to the room. His eyes were shining happily. 

“I passed the exams, Ned,’' he said quietly. “And 
that means that I can play to-morrow.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE GAME 

F lanked on one side by Dud Chambers and 
on the other by Fat Ellsworth, Ned Beals 
marched happily behind the State student 
band and passed through the gateway of the Mill- 
bum athletic field. The rival cheer leaders, glimps- 
ing the visiting rooters, leaped to their feet and 
waved their megaphones wildly. A volume of 
sound crashed out from the Millburn stands. 

‘^Rah! rah! rah! 

Rah ! rah rah ! 

Mill-burn ! 

State! State \ STATE.’^ 

The visiting students continued their way to 
the center of the field, grouped around their leader, 
and answered thunderously with a “ long locomotive 
for Millburn.*' There followed then a wild rush 
for seats in the section that was reserved for them. 


211 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


Ned, Dud and Fat found themselves on the topmost 
tier, almost at the center of the gridiron. Directly 
in front of them, sat Slim Weber and Hal Bowman. 
Farther down the stands, the tousled head of Red 
Simmons gleamed in the afternoon sun. The com- 
muters were present in full force to cheer the team 
to victory. 

The Millbum squad dashed around the comer 
from the gymnasium, thirty or more players, blue- 
shirted, their captain rumbling along in front of 
them. Fat Ellsworth, touching Ned on the arm, 
nodded wistfully. 

“If Fd been in to-day, I’d be playing against that 
fellow,” he said. “He’s their left tackle.” 

Ned’s eyes, however, were glued upon the field. 
He was sorry for Fat, of course, but there were other 
things to think of just then. The Millbum team 
looked strong; they were apparently all of the same 
size, heavy-set, built close to the ground. There was 
power in their every movement, confidence and faith 
in themselves in the businesslike way in which they 
went about their preliminary practice. For the first 
time since word of Bill Weston’s eligibility had 
come to him, Ned experienced a moment of doubt. 
The record of the Millbum team was a good one, 
and a single glance at the group of stalwart players 
out on the gridiron proved to him without semblance 


212 


THE GAME 


of doubt that they were capable of giving a good 
account of themselves. They might, in fact, win the 
game. Even with Bill Weston in the line-up, State 
might be defeated. It was going to be a hard fight, 
and a close one. Of that, Ned was certain. 

His doubts left him, however, when a few minutes 
later the State varsity swept upon the field. He rose 
to his feet with his fellow students and boomed out 
the “long cheer for the team.^’ His eager eyes dis- 
covered Bill Weston, followed him critically as he 
swept down the field in the signal practice preceding 
the contest. He nodded happily when Bill sent a 
long punt circling into the arms of a waiting half- 
back. Something told him that Bill would come 
through. 

Almost before he realized it, the game had started. 
Millbum received the kick-off, failed to gain on three 
attempts at the line, and was forced to kick. State, 
taking up the attack, sent Bill Weston crashing into 
left tackle. There was a moment of contact, the 
swaying of straining bodies, and then Bill shot for- 
ward like a catapult until he fell by his own momen- 
tum ten yards in advance of the spot where the 
ball had been put in play. 

A first down! Weston had made it in a single 
plunge. Wild-eyed, already sensing victory, the 
State followers rose to their feet, yelled eagerly for 
213 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


a touchdown. The ball was on Millburn’s forty- 
five yard line, and the game had barely begun. Al- 
ready, victory seemed assured. 

The sharp voice of the quarterback floated rasp- 
ingly over the field. The stands waited for the en- 
suing play. Again the ball shot into the arms of 
the freshman fullback, and again Weston plunged 
into the line. The Millbum defense gave way, 
cracked wide open. With head down, Bill Weston 
charged forward ; an opposing halfback leaped at 
him, struck him below the knees. They went down 
in a heap together. But it was another clean gain 
of ten yards. 

Ned Beals, leaping to his feet, added his own 
voice to the thunder of cheers which burst from the 
visiting stands. Fat Ellsworth was clapping him 
joyously on the back, muttering unintelligible things ; 
the usually quiet Dud on the other side of him was 
waving his arms wildly, yelling with all the power 
of his lusty lungs. A touchdown was in sight. A 
touchdown, and the game barely begun! 

But suddenly the cheering of the State rooters died 
away into silence. For Bill Weston, his face lined 
with agony, climbed slowly to his feet, swayed un- 
certainly for a moment, and then slumped in a heap 
upon the turf. 


214 


THE GAME 


“His ankle!’* Ned heard some one say. “He’s 
hurt his ankle again.” 

His eyes wide with apprehension, Ned watched 
anxiously as Dr. Andrews, rushing upon the field, 
felt the injured limb, turned and said something to 
one of the players, bent down again and ripped off 
Weston’s shoe. From the Millburn stands sounded 
a brisk cheer for Weston; but the State rooters 
waited, stimned for the moment into silence. 

After a time the trainer lifted the injured player 
to his feet. Bill tried out his ankle gingerly, winced 
in evident pain, and almost fell to the ground again. 
Out of the corner of his eye, Ned could see Coach 
Bailey stalking up and down the sidelines. Then, 
suddenly, the Coach whirled and snapped out a com- 
mand to one of the substitutes. The second-string 
fullback drew off his sweater, trotted slowly out up- 
on the field. Fat Ellsworth, his eyes troubled, 
turned unhappily to Ned. 

“They’re taking Bill Westoa out,” he said dully. 
“He’s hurt.” 

The stands cheered Bill to the echo as he limped 
painfully to the sidelines. Ned watched as he sank 
down upon the bench, while Doc Andrews worked 
over him busily and Coach Bailey stood near by 
regarding him with impassive face. But the coach 

215 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


knew, as did every one of the thousand or more 
State undergraduates, that without Bill Weston to 
lead them, their team was incapable of victory. 

There was only one chance — that Weston’s in- 
jury might prove to be less severe than they expected 
and that he might get back to the game again in the 
second half. It was their only hope; and although 
the State rooters cheered courageously throughout 
the first two periods of play, their cheering was 
purely mechanical, their enthusiasm forced. And 
when, in the second quarter, Millbum pushed the 
ball across their goal for a touchdown, they accepted 
the reverse stolidly and kept on with their cheering. 
There was nothing else to do. 

Millburn’s attempt at goal was a failure, but the 
six points they had already made apparently assured 
them of victory. For the remainder of the period 
they were satisfied with a purely defensive game, 
and the whistle blew for the intermission without 
further scoring. 

Bill Weston followed the others into the dressing 
room. He was limping perceptibly, but at least he 
was walking unsupported; and to the watching Ned 
Beals there seemed a chance, a slim chance, that Bill 
might get back into the game. And if he did — 
Ned’s lips shut grimly. He must get back. He 
must! 


216 


THE GAME 


Between halves, the State rooters swarmed upon 
the field and cheered defiantly in front of the Mill- 
burn stands. If they were beaten, they refused to 
acknowledge it, outwardly at least. But to Ned 
Beals, the whole thing was simply a mechanical at- 
tempt at defiance. He marched out on the field with 
the others, added his own voice to the thunder of 
sound, but his heart was with Bill Weston in the 
dressing room. 

He could imagine the freshman fullback, somber- 
eyed and grim-lipped, lying outstretched on one of 
the rubbing tables, while Doc Andrews worked over 
him unceasingly and while his fellow players re- 
garded him with questioning eyes. 

As far as Ned was concerned, Bill Weston was 
the State football team. In a certain sense, Bill 
Weston was Ned himself. For had it not been for 
him, the freshman star would not have been able to 
start the game at all. And Bill’s misfortune was 
his misfortune; and to the leaden-hearted Ned, it 
was nothing short of tragedy. 

For the past two weeks, the game with Mill- 
bum had been the beginning and end of his col- 
lege days. It was for this that he had spent lon'g 
nights in the college dormitory, for this that he had 
sacrificed his own work, endangered his own college 
standing. It was through this game that he had 
217 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


hoped to justify his loyalty to State, to show his fel- 
low students that even a commuter could do his 
share toward the success of the football season. 

And now, after he h’ad done his part, Fate had in- 
tervened to remove Bill Weston from the contest be- 
fore the battle had fairly begun. Somehow, it 
didn’t seem fair. Surely, Weston would get back 
again. Without him. State would be defeated; and 
they did not deserve defeat. 

When the two teams swept out upon the field 
again, Ned was back in his place in the stands, scan- 
ning with eager eyes the personnel of the State var- 
sity. But Bill Weston was not among them; in- 
stead, he was limping slowly toward the substitutes’ 
bench. His arms hung listlessly at his sides, but he 
held his head high, and his jaw was set grimly. 
Watching him, Ned could sense something of the in- 
dominable fighting spirit that was part of him. In 
spite of his limp, he seemed ready and willing to go 
in the game again. 

The contest itself was only of secondary impor- 
tance to Ned Beals. The intermission had evidently 
done the State players good, for the two teams bat- 
tled on even terms without further scoring. But 
Ned’s eyes were glued on the crouching figure of 
Bill Weston. Nothing else seemed to matter. 
Without Bill, only a miracle could save State from 
218 


THE GAME 


defeat; but if Weston should go in, there was a 
real chance for victory. If only Weston could go 
in! 

The third quarter ended, and the trainer trotted 
out upon the field, sponge and bucket in hand ; while 
the panting players gathered around him, their lips 
parted, their faces streaked with dirt. Ned, turn- 
ing eagerly to the bench, found again the sturdy 
figure of Bill Weston. The star fullback was still 
sitting motionless, his elbows resting on his knees, 
his hands interlocked, and his eyes looking stolidly 
out upon the field. Not once did his gaze waver, 
not once did he give indication of the fire of eager- 
ness which Ned suspected was consuming him. 

And then, as the referee walked slowly across the 
cleat- torn turf. Coach Bailey rose from his place on 
the bench, approached Bill Weston and said some- 
thing to him. Suddenly galvanized into action, 
Weston leaped to his feet and threw off the blanket 
which had been draped over his shoulders. Coach 
Bailey stood before him, talking rapidly and with 
quick, excited gestures. The freshman player, 
nodding, turned and trotted out upon the gridiron, 
limping noticeably, but with his spirit still un- 
daunted. The whistle blew, signifying the begin- 
ning of the final quarter. 

A volume of sound burst wildly from the State 
219 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


stands. Students leaped to their feet, waved their 
arms joyously, and cheered with all the power of 
lusty young voices. The yelling grew stronger, re- 
solved itself into a ‘‘long cheer for State.” For 
Weston was going in again, and already he had 
proved that Millburn could not stop him! 

It was the home team’s ball, however, on their own 
forty yard line ; and evidently their quarterback had 
decided to hold to its possession as long as possible. 
Twice, Millburn made first down by means of 
plunges outside of tackle, and the ball passed the 
center of the field. Ned, watching with excited 
eagerness, noted that Bill Weston was playing de- 
fensive quarterback, far away from the thick of the 
battle; and he smiled knowingly. Until the time 
to strike arrived. State would take no chances on her 
star player being injured. 

Finally, Millburn was forced to punt, and Weston, 
before receiving it, signaled for a free catch. The 
speeding ends did not touch him as they came dash- 
ing down the field. With grim face, Weston 
tossed the ball to the State center and stolidly took 
his position. The stands yelled wildly for a touch- 
down. 

But the ball was on the visitor’s twenty yard line, 
and the time was not propitious for a sustained ad- 
vance. And so, on the first down, the State quar- 
220 


THE GAME 


terback sent a booming punt soaring over the heads 
of the offense. It was an unexpected play, and 
Millburn was unprepared for it. The player wait- 
ing for the ball dashed backward, reached high over 
his head, and knocked it down. It fell to the ground, 
bounced crazily; and in another instant, the State 
left end had pounced upon it. It was State’s ball 
on Millburn’s forty yard line. 

Ned Beals and his fellow students leaped to their 
feet, yelled hysterically. 

‘‘Touchdown! Touchdown!” 'Fat Ellsworth 
screeched raspingly. 

Others took up the refrain, swept it across the 
field. 

“A touchdown! A totccMownT 

Oblivious to the stands, indifferent to the excite- 
ment of the moment. Bill Weston took his place 
behind the line and said something to the quarter- 
back. The cheering died away into expectant 
silence ; but Ned Beals knew that the time had come 
at last for the freshman fullback to make his drive. 

The Millburn captain turned wamingly to his 
men. 

“Hold the line!” he called hoarsely. “Low on 
the line.” 

The teams snapped into position, the quarterback 
rasped out his numbers. The ball shot into the 
221 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


arms of Bill Weston on a direct pass from center, 
and Bill plunged forward. It seemed for an instant 
as if he was not going to gain. Men threw them- 
selves before him, piled up a bulwark of straining 
bodies. But suddenly Weston swerved, instinctively 
found his opening and fought his way forward. 
The Millburn secondary defense threw themselves 
at him, grasped his ankles, his knees. For another 
yard, two yards, three yards, Weston fought his way 
ahead. He stumbled, recovered himself. A wild- 
eyed player leaped upon his shoulders, forced him 
to the ground. The whistle blew. 

But the freshman fullback had made twelve 
yards ; had earned a first down on a single 
plimge. 

He was up again in an instant, his injury ap- 
parently forgotten, his square jaw set determinedly, 
his whole body vibrant with the spirit of battle. 
The State cheering section poured forth a volume 
of sound from the throats of a thousand rooters 
gone suddenly mad with joy. But Weston held up 
his hand for silence, and strained forward to catch 
the words of the quarterback. 

Again, it was Weston through right guard, and 
again he made his first down on a single plunge. It 
was superfootball played by a superman. 


222 


THE GAME 


Ned Beals, beside himself with the excitement of 
the moment, stood in his place in the stands and 
yelled as he never had yelled before. It seemed to 
him as if was out there with Bill Weston, reeling 
off the precious yards which would mean victory, 
feeling the clash of padded bodies, eluding the eager 
hands which sought to restrain him. Bill made 
another five yards, and Ned sprang, in fancy, back 
to position beside him. Again the star player dashed 
into the scrimmage line, and again Ned fought his 
Way forward with him, foot by foot, his muscles 
tense, his arms cuddling the pigskin against his 
straining body. 

Time flashed by. Some one said something about 
there being only a few minutes to play, but the ball 
was on the twenty-yard line, and the goal posts 
loomed invitingly in the near distance. The State 
left halfback tried a dash outside of tackle and made 
a precious two yards. Again Weston was called 
upon, and again he was equal to the task. When 
finally he climbed to his feet, only ten yards sep- 
arated him from the last white line. And it was 
first down again. 

Out on the field, the players were muttering 
hoarsely, their dirt-streaked faces white and tense, 
their heavy breathing audible to the watching stands. 
A Millbum lineman was hurt, and the State varsity 
223 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


stamped impatiently at the delay. A substitute 
rushed in, crawled down into the line; the whistle 
blew again. 

Sharply, raspingly, the signals floated across the 
field. The State forwards crouched low ; Bill Wes- 
ton, his eyes on the ball, waited tensely. With a 
swift flip of his wrist, the center lined the pigskin to 
the waiting fullback. Weston, cuddling it in his 
arms, hurled himself at the clashing lines. Miracu- 
lously, he found an opening, dashed forward, his 
head low, his knees held high. A Millbum halfback 
leaped for him desperately ; he avoided the contact, 
rushed forward. The single man between him and 
the goal dove at his knees. Their bodies struck — 
Ned could feel the force of it — but Weston fell 
forward and over the line. The thunder of wild, 
disconnected yelling which swept across the field 
blotted out everything else. Bill Weston rose to 
his feet and grinned happily. The score was tied, 
six to six. 

Calmly, oblivious to his surroundings, the fresh- 
man fullback strode to the fifteen-yard line and 
relinquished the ball to one of his team-mates. Care- 
fully, and without undue haste, he measured the dis- 
tance to the goal. Rising, he took a sudden step 
backward, nodded, and swung his foot. The ball 
224 


THE GAME 


sailed clearly between the uprights, the referee flung 
up his right hand; 

‘‘Goal!” he announced hoarsely. 

But no one heard him. The game was ended — 
and State had won, seven to six. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE FOOTBALL DINNER 

I T was the Saturday following the Millburn vic- 
tory. In the evening, the annual football din- 
ner would be held in the big gymnasium, and 
the campus was alive with expectancy. Never in 
all the history of State University had there been a 
game like that ; and never, it was hoped, would there 
be a dinner like the one in prospect. 

The past week had proved something of an anti- 
climax to Ned Beals. The victory had been well 
worth all the sacrifice he had made, of course, but 
he had hoped, deep down in his heart, that it would 
be the beginning of better things for him. Bill Wes- 
ton had won the game; and lie, Ned, had been 
the person responsible for Bill’s winning it. He had 
expected that his fellow students would give him 
some recognition for what he had done ; that his own 
path, and that of the other commuters, would be 
smoother than it had hitherto been. 

But there was little change in the student body. 
Bill Weston was the big hero, and no one else seemed 
226 


THE FOOTBALL DINNER 


to matter much. The college had apparently for- 
gotten those anxious days preceding the game, when 
Bill’s ability to pass his Latin examination was the 
deepest concern of them all. Ned Beals was just 
a commuter again ; better known than he had been, of 
course, but a commuter, nevertheless. 

There were some exceptions. Slim Weber and 
the rest of his close friends paid him silent tribute in 
the confines of the locker room. Tom Johnson 
went out of his way to invite him over to the Kappa 
house again, and Coach Bailey of the football team 
thanked him personally for the help he had given. 
But things were not as Ned had expected, and he was 
vaguely puzzled. He had done a big thing for the 
college, and the college was seemingly indifferent. 

Bill Weston had been unusually quiet all through 
the week. He had hardly mentioned the Millburn 
game, as if the thought of it were distasteful to him. 
He did not revel in the glory he had won, did not 
relish being pointed out as a campus idol. His mod- 
esty was sincere, without affectation. Once or twice, 
when they were alone in the dormitory, Ned was 
aware that Bill was regarding him curiously. But 
neither of them mentioned the game. 

On Friday, Weston invited him to spend the after- 
noon of the next day with the members of the Alpha 
Beta Fraternity and to be their guest at the football 
227 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


dinner. Ned accepted gladly, for the Alpha Betas 
were the kind of fellows he wanted to know. 

When he went over to the fraternity house on 
Saturday, they greeted him pleasantly, without res- 
traint. He was entirely free from the embarras- 
ment of which he had always been conscious with the 
Kappa Kaps, and even the fact that his present hosts 
seemed to be watching him more closely than usual 
failed to disconcert him. For he knew that the 
Alpha Beta Fraternity was the most conservative of 
all the organizations at State, and he had not the 
faintest hope of receiving an invitation to join them. 

He was surprised, therefore, when Rip Van Win- 
kle, captain of the football team, touched him on the 
shoulder and asked him if he would mind stepping 
upstairs. Deeply mystified, but with his heart beat- 
ing with a strange exultation, he followed the foot- 
ball player to his room on the second floor. Van 
Winkle shut the door softly and turned toward him 
with smiling eyes. 

“I want to tell you, Ned,” he said quietly, ‘‘that 
youVe been unanimously elected a member of the 
Alpha Beta Fraternity. We’d like to have you 
pledge yourself to us.” 

For a moment, Ned Beals stared at him in frank 
amazement. He could hardly believe his ears; it 
didn’t seem possible. 


228 


THE FOOTBALL DINNER 


‘T — I — ’’ he stammered finally. Suddenly, he 
turned uncertainly and gazed through the study win- 
dow out upon the campus. 

Alpha Beta, the best fraternity in college, had 
given him a “bid,’^ had stamped their mark of ap- 
proval upon him. It did not seem possible ; and still. 
Van Winkle was waiting behind him to receive his 
answer. Impulsively, Ned turned to the other boy. 
He would accept, of course, would tell them how 

glad he was, how honored. He would tell them 

And then, he remembered. It would cost money 
to join a fraternity such as Alpha Beta, and he had 
saved barely enough to last him through the first 
year of college. Moreover, if he should pledge him- 
self, they would probably expect him to live in the 
house, to be one with them in all their activities. 
And he could not do that, could not afford to. 

For a moment, he was tempted to accept their in- 
vitation and let the future take care of itself. It 
meant so much to him; it was a chance he would 
never have again. And then, there flashed through 
his whirling brain a picture of Fat Ellsworth, who 
had done a similar thing and had paid for his folly. 
Ned knew, after a moment, that there was only one 
thing he could honestly do. With troubled eyes he 
confronted the waiting Van Winkle. 

‘‘Rip,’^ he said bravely, ‘‘getting a bid to Alpha 
229 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


Beta is the greatest thing that has ever happened to 
me, and Tm more grateful than I can say. But — 
his voice faltered for an instant — “but I can’t accept 
it. We haven’t very much money at home, and 
I couldn’t afford to join a fraternity, for this year at 
least. I’d like to, but I just can’t, Rip.” 

He waited anxiously, expecting to see upon the 
football captain’s face the same look with which 
Tom Johnson of the Kappa Kaps had greeted a 
similar announcement. But instead. Van Winkle 
only nodded understanding^. 

“We’ve expected something like that,” he an- 
swered quietly. “But we want you to pledge just 
the same, Ned. You can wait until next year to 
join, if you have to.” 

Ned Beals’ eyes opened in stunned amazement. 

“You mean,” he asked unbelievingly, “that you’re 
willing to have me pledge myself even though I can’t 
join this year? Doesn’t my being a commuter make 
any difference?” 

“Not a bit.” Van Winkle smiled encouragingly. 
“The fellows want you, Ned, for what you are, not 
because you live down at college or because you 
happen to have more money than any one else.” He 
reached into his pocket and drew out a speckled 
pledge button. “So if you say so, we’ll put this 
where it belongs, right now.” 

230 


THE FOOTBALL DINNER 


Ned gulped happily. 

“Thanks, Rip,’’ he said uncertainly. “Thanks 
—I ” 

The football captain reached over and adjusted the 
pledge button on Ned’s coat. 

“Congratulations,” he said formally. “I know 
you’ll never regret it.” 

Ned took the outstretched hand and gripped it 
firmly. 

“I won’t,” he said simply. 

He was pledged Alpha Beta. 

The remainder of the afternoon was more or less 
of a maze. He remembered that Bill Weston 
gripped his shoulder with strange intensity, and that 
the other members of the fraternity seemed frankly 
glad to have him with them. They grouped around 
him on the way to the football dinner, found a place 
for him at the table next to the one which was re- 
served for the varsity team, and glanced at one 
another expectantly, with smiling eyes. It seemed, 
almost, as if they shared a secret among themselves. 
Even Bill Weston was infected by it; once during 
the dinner, he looked over at Ned and nodded en- 
couragingly. 

The speeches came finally: a brief word of con- 
gratulation by the President of the college, an elo- 
quent address by the fiery Coach Bailey ; a straight- 
23 1 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


forward talk by Captain Rip Van Winkle. There 
were cheers for the team and for the individual 
members; the college orchestra played during the 
meal and between the speeches. 

To Ned Beals, it was the most glorious occasion 
he had ever known. The vague resentment he had 
felt toward the student body had entirely dis- 
appeared. He had done his part for State, had 
earned his small share in this celebration of victory; 
and he was satisfied with that. And he had, too, 
been paid to a fuller degree than he had ever hoped, 
for he knew instinctively that it was because of 
what he had done for Bill Weston that the Alpha 
Betas had asked him to join them. 

He glanced around the table which had been given 
over to his new-found friends. What a splendid 
bunch of fellows they were! Some of them, Ned 
knew, were sons of rich parents; all of them were 
gentlemen, from cultured homes. And for the next 
four years, his path would run parallel to theirs ; he 
would win their friendship, learn to know them bet- 
ter, live with them, perhaps. It was all too good to 
be true. 

Suddenly, his roving glance fell upon a group of 
freshmen in the balcony encircling the main floor of 
the gymnasium. It was the Commuters’ Club, at- 
tending the dinner in a body. Dud Chambers was 
232 


THE FOOTBALL DINNER 


there, his quiet face thoughtful ; and Fat Ellsworth, 
talking pleasantly to Slim Weber. Ned had hardly 
thought of those friends of his during the last two 
or three hours; in his own happiness he had for- 
gotten that they were the men who had stood true to 
him during all those first hectic days of college. 
They had proved themselves real friends, but as yet 
not one of them was a fraternity man — they were 
just commuters, whom the college body still looked 
upon with indifference. 

Ned was conscious of a sudden impulse to go up 
to them, to tell them that although he had pledged 
Alpha Beta, he would still be one of them, would 
still report to the locker room at noontime. He 
would see to it that the Alpha Betas got to know 
them, to appreciate what good fellows they were. 
Dud surely must be an Alpha Beta; college would 
never be complete without Dud as his closest friend. 
And perhaps Fat Ellsworth 

The music of the college orchestra died away into 
silence. The graduate manager of athletics, who 
was toastmaster of the evening, rose to his feet. 
Some one suggested a cheer, and the gymnasium 
rang with the sound of it. Then comparative silence 
fell again. 

^‘We’re going to hear now from one of our foot- 
233 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


ball players,” the graduate manager announced ; 
‘‘Bill Weston, the man who won the Millburn game 
in the last ten minutes of play.” 

As the freshman fullback rose to his feet, the big 
gymnasium quivered with the thunder of the tribute 
which was paid to him. Weston, waiting until the 
room was silent, inclined his head in acknowledg- 
ment. His eyes swept the faces of the men before 
him, and when he spoke, his voice was low-pitched, 
but clear. 

“I’ve heard a good deal about the man who won 
the Millburn game,” he began directly. “But it 
seems to me that you fellows are all on the wrong 
track. I didn’t win the game, I only helped to do 
it. But there’s another fellow here who helped even 
more than I did.” 

He paused for a moment, and the students looked 
at one another questioningly. 

“During the first week in college,” Weston con- 
tinued, “I fell off one of the old wharves down at 
the river and hit my head against a log underneath 
the water. Undoubtedly, I would have drowned if 
some other fellow, a student here at State who hap- 
pened to be near by, hadn’t jumped in after me and 
pulled me to shore. He saved my life, all right, but 
after he did it, he made me promise that I’d keep still 
about it. And now I’m breaking that promise.” 

234 


THE FOOTBALL DINNER 


He paused again, and some one started to clap. 
He waited until the applause had died away, and 
then went on with his story. It wasn’t the kind of 
speech the students had expected, but it held them 
fascinated. The room was so quiet that Ned could 
hear a clock ticking on the farther wall. 

‘‘So if it hadn’t been for that fellow,” Weston re- 
sumed, ‘T wouldn’t have been present to make a 
touchdown against Millburn for you. So, you see, 
whatever I did, he was responsible for it.” 

“Who is he?” some one called loudly. 

The speaker held up his hand. 

“I’m coming to that,” he answered quietly. 
“But first I want to talk about something else. The 
boy who saved my life happens to be a commuter. 
He doesn’t live on the campus, and because he 
doesn’t, all you fellows had an idea that he isn’t 
worth his salt. You have the same idea about all the 
commuters, and let me tell you that you’re dead 
wrong. Most of them are just as loyal to State as 
any of the rest of us. And if you want to pay me 
back for what I did last Saturday, you can do it by 
treating the commuting students like college men 
and stop thinking that you’re any better than they 
are. 

“Sure we will,” a persistent voice called from the 
back of the room. '^But who is hef** 

235 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


Weston waited for a moment, evidently enjoying 
the interest he had created. 

“He’s the same fellow,” he said finally, “who 
stayed down to college for two weeks before the 
IMillburn game and pumped me so full of Latin that 
I got through that exam. And his name — ” the 
speaker paused then and glanced over at the Alpha 
Beta table. “His name is Ned Beals,” he finished. 
“And he’s the best friend that I’ve got in the fresh- 
man class.” 

Weston sat down, and for an instant, the room 
was so quiet that Ned imagined that the whole col- 
lege could hear the thumping of his heart. Then : 

“Let’s have a look at him,” some one called loudly. 
“Where is he, anyhow?” 

The two boys sitting next to Ned pushed 
him protestingly to his feet. Red-faced and em- 
barrassed, he sought to sink down in his chair, but 
they prodded him up again. 

“Oh, you Beals !” some one shouted. 

The cheer leader leaped to the center of the room, 
waving his megaphone. 

“How about a long yell for Beals,” he suggested. 

“Good work!” some one answered. “A long 
yell for Beals!” 

A thousand lusty voices joined in the cheer that 
followed. Ned Beals, hardly believing his ears, 
236 


THE FOOTBALL DINNER 


sank down in his chair and wished that the floor 
would open and carry him into oblivion. He glanced 
uncertainly around the table and found that the mem- 
bers of Alpha Beta were smiling at him happily. 
He knew then that Bill Weston had let them in on 
the secret. 

Ned knew, too, that in after years he would never 
forget that night, that if he lived to be as old as 
Methuselah, the sound of the cheer that had been 
given him would always ring in his ears. Al- 
though he would have given worlds to be away 
from the clamoring gymnasium, he was happier than 
he had ever been in his life. But he only crouched 
down in his seat and fought back the almost over- 
whelming desire to cover his burning face with his 
hands. 

“Speech ! Speech some one called. 

Ned caught his breath miserably, glanced over 
appealingly at the smiling Bill Weston. And Bill 
held up his hand for silence. 

“Let’s don’t wish that on him,” he suggested. 
“He’s done enough for us as it is. How about a 
song ?” 

The orchestra leader, taking his cue, rose to his 
feet. A moment later, the words of the Alma Mater 
song flooded the massive gymnasium. Ned Beals 
knew then that he was safe. He glanced at the 

237 


NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 


Alpha Betas around the table and smiled happily at 
them. 

And then, while the music swelled in volume, he 
raised his eyes eagerly and sought the group of boys 
in the crowded balcony. Slim Weber was singing, 
and he did not see him ; but Fat Ellsworth waved to 
him joyously and yelled something that Ned could 
not hear. Dud Chambers was viewing the scene 
below, his quiet face impassive. Suddenly, he shif- 
ted his glance, and found Ned’s eyes upon him. The 
troubled light which had been in his own eyes van- 
ished. He smiled. And there in the crowded gym- 
nasium, with a thousand men singing the Alma 
Mater song, the two boys pledged anew their friend- 
ship. 

( 1 ) 


THE END 


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with Red Potter, a grafting political leader. 

The story is unique in reading for boy 
readers. It is a novel for boys. 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

LONDON NEW YORK 


T696 




I 





